We Are Human
by Morgan Cordes
Summary: *BOOK ONE* Seven kids - all of differnt ages, backgrounds, and situations - come together to learn a horrifying truth about themselves: they are not Human.
1. Prologue

Prologue

**WE ARE HUMAN.**

We are given certain gifts: to laugh, to think for ourselves, to possess free will, to choose our final afterlife, to live, to die, and finally, to love.

Love – (n.) a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person; a feeling of warm personal attachment; sexual passion or desire; unconditional care for another.

However you look at it, whatever your definition, it is still love. But if there is love, there is also hate. We as humans are also familiar with that feeling.

Hate – (n.) intense dislike; extreme aversion or hostility.

We have seen love as well as hate throughout our lives; throughout the centuries as they play out in a rote way giving us beings a sense of purpose. Since the beginning of our very existence, when God created the heaven and earth and its inhabitance—humans—we have seen both love and hate live together in peace, harmony, and coexistence.

God's intense, never-ending love for humanity and our souls began when he breathed life into Adam and maybe—without our knowledge—existed long before that when he dwelt in heaven with his chorusing angels.

Hate however was not brought into our world through God. His only hate is for sin. We are the cause of hate dwelling in our society. We never intended to bring it into existence but when Eve took a bite of the forbidden fruit, she became sinful and for the first time, possessed the feeling hatred.

Hate is not all bad. It can be used for good though we mostly do not think of it that way. Our hate is normally directed towards those we don't like: people who have hurt us verbally or physically, on purpose or accidently.

If we turned our hate towards treachery, dishonesty, or like God's, sin, hate could actually be beneficial our world.

Humans must decide—must make the choice—will they use hate to profit society or to destroy their very existence?

We are human.

To be human is also to possess emotions such as happiness, sadness, anger, fatigue, and sorrow.

Anger leads to hate; hate leads to bitterness and brokenness which eventually lead to destruction.

The choice is will we let anger consume us and will we let it be our only drive to success when we are really driving ourselves to destruction and obliterate everything we have worked so hard for?

We are human.

Under all our flaws, we are capable of things other beings are not. We have a soul. That alone separates from the beast of the earth, aliens of the sky, and monsters lying deep below our feet. Though we are mostly a corrupt species that has lived on long past our time, we have succeeded in making advances in all different fields in only a matter of about a hundred years and we will most likely continue to make advances.

Though we have made great advances and seem to be well ahead of our time, we tend to overlook the possibility that some other species might actually be more sophisticated than we humans. Though we like to imagine we are the only people on our small universe, we know in our hearts we are not.

We like to believe we are superior to any other; we assume we are more evolved than any other.

Could our pride and arrogance bring us to our knees and make us beg for mercy under the weight of destruction caused strictly by ourselves? Yes.

But we are only human.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

May 5, 2309-1:23p.m.

**THE WORLD—PLANET** Earth—has just recovered from the longest, hardest depression known to Earth's grandchildren as the Second Dark Ages.

"_In the twenty-first century, a series of cruel, unjust leaders rose into power all over the world. The United States of America seemed to be the only nation left standing at the end of it all. _

"_The countries that got the brunt of the attack, it seemed, were Ireland, Germany, Wales, England, Italy, and a few parts of South America. The reason, of course, was that they had the worst leaders. _

"_A man by the name of Zoltan György gained power in 2056 and took over most of Europe. He was born and raised in Hungary by a step uncle, also the town drunk. He mistreated Zoltan and turned him into a hard adult who sought out power and death. _

"_He was able to conquer some of Asia before his violent, unexpected death in 2079—just before his fifty-seventh birthday. He was inside his home when a powerful earthquake occurred. He fell along with one of his prized busts of himself. It crashed on his head killing him instantly. After that, the people of Europe fell into a state of utter anarchy._

"_Europe's economy plummeted. Its people went bankrupt and many were forced to sell everything they owned in order to survive. They lived on the streets begging or stealing from those few who had something left._

"_People stopped keeping records of names, dates, and places, leaving new generations no way to keep up with their ancestors and their doings. Historians today have no chronicles of human living during the Second Dark Ages except for few remnants and traces of footprints left in the well-treaded sand._

"_It seemed that the balance of nature itself was affected by all the chaos and destruction and the state that the world was in. Extreme earthquakes, flooding, and all manner of natural disasters broke out for one hundred and twenty years, long after the cruel dictator, Zoltan György, was dead."_

At that moment, Aeron called on someone else to finish reading the last chapter in her textbook which she had started. She was so sick of world history. What did history matter anyway? Who cared what happened three hundred years ago? All history is, was, and will ever be about is depressing crap that no one cares to know or memorize.

The textbooks were always so boring and pallid without any emotion and always had one point of view that you had to believe or you would fail the every-two-week-test. They droned on and on, and it pained her to read it out loud. World history was the only class that still used textbooks instead of the holographic screens that were given out for the purpose of saving trees so that paper would not be 'wasted' in the process of textbook making.

They probably did that to preserve some part of the old days when all the textbooks in schools were actually books and not presented on the screens that would materialize in front of them. It was the whole idea of sustaining history, she guessed. That was the thing that bothered her. But any time she was present in the class, Mr. Spinelli always called on her to read, probably to give her some chance to catch up with the rest of the class.

Aeron had skipped this class so many times it felt weird to be sitting in her usual seat. Most of the time, she didn't turn in her homework, didn't listen to lectures, and most certainly didn't pass tests. She would no doubt have to take a summer class to pass this grade. And she would skip that too.

She smiled at the thought. It wasn't a happy smile or even an amused smile. It was sinister—evil almost. She shook it off when Mr. Spinelli started eying her. She paid him no attention but looked at her blank piece of paper where she was supposed to be taking notes. Her textbook was still open on the page where she had stopped reading; she hadn't bothered to keep up with whoever it was she had called on.

For some reason, she had the strange impulse to catch up to him or her or it. She started frantically flipping pages until she was reading the words in sync with Drake's voice.

Drake. That's who it was. His voice was loud and clear, despite his enclosed form. She couldn't even see his face because of his long, deep black hair that swept over it, brushing his shoulders ever so lightly.

She hated him. He tended to hang out with her group of friends even though he was completely unwelcome. No one ever invited him to any of their gatherings, but he was always there. Though he was present, he never participated in their usual boring conversations that had no point whatsoever.

They were mostly debates about which hard rock/metal band played the best music. That was all their life was about: music about suicide and death and destruction. Somehow, that made their lives more bearable.

Not that it mattered what they talked about. Drake was not welcome, and they made a point to tell him. He was always falsely accused of awful things. If Aeron's own hate for him wasn't so strong, she would have protested their accusations. She would have stood up for anyone else. But Drake was different, and she somehow managed to justify her actions by telling herself that he was the one who put himself in the situation and that she couldn't help what he did. It was true. She wasn't his keeper.

And if all that wasn't bad enough, he was filthy rich. She heard once that his dad struck oil in some place down in Texas or something like that. But he lived in a humongous house for just him and his dad and he drove the most expensive cars.

She knew that he knew she was staring at him. She always knew that he knew when he looked just out of the corner of his eye and saw her burning holes into the back of his head. He smiled to himself as he knew that she was watching.

That made her hate for him even more intense. Her cheeks grew hot and her stomach lurched. She had to be out of this room. It was making her dizzy, and Drake wasn't helping her at all.

He started reading again.

"_Before Zoltan died, he married. There was an issue of royal blood. The dictator's wife had none. Because of the lack of record keeping, historians still do not know who she was or why they were married at all, but they do know that she gave György three sons and, some believe, two daughters._

"_After their father died, the three brothers sought out power and fought for the throne. The eldest son was killed by the second born, and the second was killed by the third, who also was not successful in taking the throne because of his imprisonment for the murder of his brother._

"_The murdering of the two princes began the age of thirst for power and lust for worldly possessions such as food, money, and people. Sons killed fathers for leadership over the family and their inheritance; mothers killed sons for their sins committed against their fathers._

"_Because Europe declined in power, trade, economy, and importance to the world in general, the rest of the world slowly began to fall with it._

"_For two hundred and twenty years, the world suffered the worst Dark Ages it had ever seen. People not only murdered each other uncontrollably, but they lost interest in the arts and other things that had made the world so sophisticated compared to the years when humans lived so barbarically on the earth._

"_Fortunately, the US was spared, and rising from it, came a great leader who saved our government and economy, Malaci Decorr._

"_The New World government and its leaders have introduced to us a new way of living and a new way to be human and have saved us from utter chaos. It has brought us into the world we know today that is safer and friendlier than any other we have known before."_

Drake's reading stopped.

Mr. Spinelli looked up from his own book. "Okay, let's discuss." He stood in front of the room looking around it for hands. "Catelynne?" He called on her.

She looked up half asleep and stared at him like he was nuts.

"Would you care to discuss?" He questioned prodding her.

"Um…" She looked around trying to collect her bearings. "I don't know."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk." He shook his head. "Let me bestow upon you some knowledge then, shall I?" He said in his most condescending tone. "Was…Zoltan…a bad…man?" He wrote on the chalkboard. "Awe, Catelynne! I know you want to shed some light on our discussion today."

"Um…he was bad obviously." She looked around the room for approval. "Right? That's…that's what it says in the book isn't it? Is this gonna be on the test, Mr. Spinelli?"

He laughed but didn't respond to the question. "Is that your reasoning for all of your opinions? Becausee the text book says so? Come on guys; let's get a real discussion going. Anyone? Stephanie?"

Stephanie beamed at this. She loved to speak. It was her talent, and she loved to show off how well she could do it. "Well, he was bad. But that was because his step uncle was mean to him. Wasn't he really, really evil after that? It was his uncle's fault." She looked proud of herself. Too bad she was always so concerned with what her voice sounded like that she couldn't take time to consider her words. Why couldn't she at least try to sound intelligent?

Mr. Spinelli shook his head. "What is your reasoning? Oh, wait; let me guess, the textbook said so?" Stephanie looked embarrassed and not as arrogant as before. Aeron smiled at her failure to answer her teacher's question.

"Okay, let's try this again. Nash? Olivia? Taban?" None of them wanted to participate. "Aeron." This time there was no question in Mr. Spinelli's voice.

She sighed. "He was good." She didn't hesitate like the others knowing that was the answer he wanted.

"Why do you say that?" He wouldn't rest until everyone was involved.

"I don't know. Because, well, maybe the textbook's wrong." She offered reluctantly.

"Hm, interesting theory." He held up his hand. "New discussion. Could…the textbooks…we read…be wrong?" He wrote on the board and then looked back at her. "Aeron. Since you presented us with this idea, why don't you share your opinion?"

She sighed again—louder this time. "I guess, well, maybe historians are lying to us. I mean, we weren't there. How can we know? How can we know the textbooks are real facts?" Her own words made her think. "Maybe they're wrong…maybe it's…a conspiracy."

Several people groaned at the last word. They had had the conspiracy discussion many times before. There was always one nut bird in every crowd that was always babbling about some new conspiracy the New World government was plotting. No one liked those kinds of people. Aeron didn't like being the nut bird.

But, in all honesty, those people could very well be right. Even if some of their ideas were a bit extreme, could there be some truth in their supposedly crazy words?

"Okay, okay." Mr. Spinelli held his hand up to quiet the students. "Though Miss Charleson may be wrong, it is an interesting thought to entertain. Now, does anyone oppose?"

Stephanie raised her hand only to argue with Aeron, but she wasn't going to be pulled in. She had already planned on leaving the minute Mr. Spinelli called on her to read.

Aeron raised her own hand high just as Stephanie began to speak. Mr. Spinelli ignored her completely even though he could plainly see her hand up.

"Mr. Spinelli," She asked loudly interrupting another one of Stephanie's poorly cited theories, "Can I go to the nurse? I don't feel good." She said in her best pitiful voice. She held her stomach and coughed for extra effect.

He nodded quickly waving her away. He knew as well as she that she would not be back.

She could decide if he liked her later, just as she's wondering if she likes him. Sometimes, he took the time to work with her or even talk to her, trying desperately to get her to talk to him like so many teachers had. Other times, she felt like she was just in his way. But it didn't matter because she wasn't sure whether she liked him or not. Most of the time she couldn't wait until the bell rang or she skipped altogether.

But, on occasion, she felt like he cared more about her than her so-called friends.

Just as she was darting out of the room, Drake caught her eye and winked. Her stomach lurched again, and she felt like she couldn't stand. She ran out of the room as fast as she could and despite herself, skipped seeing the nurse.

Aeron instantly felt better after leaving the class room. She could never tell what made her feel worse: the world history or Drake's occasional glances. She had to go by her house to pick up a few things.

It wasn't really a house. It was more like a trailer in a trailer park. Actually, it _was_ a trailer in a trailer park. Nathan had lived in it practically all his adult life. She and Quetzy didn't live there by choice, but it was the only place they had left.

It wasn't living in a trailer or a park that bothered Aeron. It was that her particular trailer park had several people who didn't look like people she would want to hang out with. It wasn't that she somehow thought she was above them or that they were worth less than her; they just gave her the creeps. And then there was the issue of living with Nathan.

Aeron despised Nathan more than any other person in the world—even more than Drake, if that was possible. Not because of his dead-end job that he rarely ever went to (it was a wonder he hadn't been fired yet), not because of his ugly, trashy house, but because of his unruly friends.

They lived at the trailer as much as Nathan did. They were there all night playing poker, drinking cheap beer, and smoking cigarettes. Then they left all their garbage—empty beer cans and cigarette buds—laying around for Aeron to clean up. She didn't mind so much for herself. It was Quetzy that she was worried about. If that was what she would remember her childhood as being, she didn't want to think of the person she might grow up to be.

But Quetzy wasn't that kind of kid. She was stronger than that. Aeron was sure she got that from their mother. Nevertheless, she tried not to think about it.

She pulled out of the school parking lot in her beat-up excuse for a car and sped away the direction of the trailer park.

The drive wasn't long. The park wasn't far from the high school so Nathan wouldn't have to pay out-of-district fees. It was on days like this very one that made Aeron hate living so close to the school. She wouldn't mind going for a nice, quiet drive for a little while just to think about nothing.

Thankfully most of the people that lived at the trailer park worked during the day. This way, she wouldn't have to stop and get into some conversation about the weather with someone. Unfortunately, the scary ones didn't work at all. They lived on government grants and scared the crap out of Aeron. She never let Quetzy play outside alone, even when they weren't home.

They hung around outside, waiting on their buddies to give them a ride to wherever they were going. Aeron hated being around the trailer when they were out. They really made her feel uneasy. Her stomach lurched again and she felt lightheaded.

As she pulled in, she found that all the worst of them were right outside her house. She wondered if it would not be best to turn around right there and forget what she had come to get. She braved them though and dashed inside before they could say anything.

They didn't need to; their looks as she walked past were enough to send bad vibes up and down her spine. She heard, as she opened the screen door, unlocked the main door, and dove in, one man with too many tattoos whistle. She tried to shake it off but the feeling was already there.

Once inside the house, she popped some Ibuprofen into her mouth and stuffed a few extras into her pocket for later in case she needed one. The trailer was by no means clean or decent, but she had no intention to stick around and tidy up while all those weird people were hanging around outside the place.

She grabbed what she wanted and got out of the park as soon as she could. Aeron always vowed to herself several times a day that when she had finished high school (she had never wanted to be a drop-out even if she did skip every now and again), she would take Quetzy and leave this place once and for all.

All of a sudden, she began to think about the future and her plans and realized she had none. There was nothing she could do about her life or her situation. She wanted Quetzy, if no one else, to have a decent childhood and some good in her life. Quetzy was the world to Aeron now that she had nothing else left. Everything had been taken away so violently and so suddenly.

She almost shut her eyes at the awful memory but slowly remembered she was still driving. _We wouldn't want a wreck now would we, Stupid? See what other wonderful things you can bring upon yourself, _she scolded.

When she reached the abandoned warehouse, she saw two vehicles leisurely parked in front. One was rusted and beat-up like hers which she instantly recognized as Faolan's. The other was sleek, black, without a dent, scratch, or mark, and bled expensive everywhere. She wondered if the seating was made of money. She envied the driver for she had nothing, let alone money.

She, being more wary than the owners of the two vehicles in front of the store, chose a more secluded spot around back.

Aeron got out of her car rather awkwardly. She still felt awful and wasn't entirely sure why. World History did seem to have that effect on her but it was never this bad. She stumbled through the doors of the abandoned warehouse as quietly as possible.

She knew she was late and that the meeting had already started. Maybe it was already done and over with. She would feel terrible if she missed the whole thing, mainly because she knew she would have let down Faolan.

The warehouse was dusty and dank. She held back a cough and sneeze so she would not disturb the mice that darted out of her way every time she took a step further. Shelves still hung unbalanced but the merchandise had been removed either by the last manager of the store or had been looted out by people in need.

She guessed it was the latter because some things still remained, such as toothbrushes, toilet paper, and tissues. Someone was probably using this place as a storage room and would come back when he or she needed the necessities.

Aeron stopped abruptly at the moment she heard voices. She held her breath hoping Mr. Spinelli had not ratted her out. She knew he couldn't have known where she was going but she stood paralyzed in the spot. She hoped the cops weren't there. That would be the end of everything.

She heard something move in the far corner. A bag of rotten potatoes fell over spilling its contents. Something was behind those bags. Had she made too much noise? It must have been the mice she falsely assured herself. Though, Aeron could have swore she saw a pair of eyes staring at her; eyes that belonged to something human. But it must have been a trick of the light because in an instant, the eyes were gone; her fears melted away.

She didn't start moving forward until she heard Faolan. His deep husky voice was strange and somehow melodic. She had always admired his voice. It was the kind of deepness that comes from a strong male who would protect the weaker female. It was the kind of raspy that would make Dracula hide under his coffin. It didn't seem right that the voice was projected from this ragged, tall, starved-looking figure. If she hadn't known any better, she would have thought he was a stray beggar or, better yet, a coyote.

He was talking to a man dressed in a very expensive looking suit. She would have guessed it was a Loto or a vintage Armani, but it actually looked like something she had never seen before. Most of the men and women they did business with were poor folks. Their business was not that well-known. Maybe that was why Faolan seemed so giddy tonight. The man obviously had connections and was most definitely rich, which meant he probably had rich friends too.

Aeron walked in cautiously approaching Faolan. He held his hand out to her and winked showing everything was going great with their new client. "Mr. Smith, this is my colleague, Aeron. She happens to be carrying your merchandise, so be very kind to her." He smiled broadly showing all his pointy wolfish teeth. They used to scare Aeron, but now it was sort of his trademark. She grinned back and handed him the duffle bag she'd retrieved from the trailer.

Mr. Smith beamed as if the bag held the most expensive contents in the world. Aeron wondered if he knew it was only a few pirated DVDs, some illegally burnt CDs, and maybe some cigarettes Faolan had managed to get a hold of. He reached out for the bag but Faolan jerked it back. "Ah, ah, ah." He wagged his finger and shook his head. "Not quite, Sir."

Aeron stood back as Mr. Smith's eyes clouded and his face smeared with rage. He apparently really wanted this merchandise.

"You see, we have this…policy, if you will. It says we need to have your name in writing that you will not say anything to anyone about this meeting."

Mr. Smith didn't look happy about this news.

"It's okay, don't look so paranoid. All you have to do is sign your name on the dotted line." Faolan smiled. Aeron knew this was his favorite part of the business. He was almost evil looking when he got ready to deliver his next line like an esteemed actor on the ruins of Broadway.

"Oh, and one more thing. You have to just prick your finger. It doesn't hurt at all. It's just like a rose thorn touching your skin. You okay? You're looking pale." Mr. Smith was looking pale and angrier by the second.

"Faolan," she tapped his shoulder, "Maybe we should skip this part. We can maybe just let him sign and go." She didn't like the stare Faolan was giving her but right now Mr. Smith scared her more.

"I'm sorry; my colleague is a bit…sensitive towards those who don't seem to want to follow the rules. Maybe they are a bit outlandish but we are fearful. You know, these days, with all the extra police out watching for young, potential criminals like us, you can't be too careful.

"I don't know you; you don't know me. How can we trust each other without a little initiation?" Faolan's eyes were getting wider as he talked with such authority. Aeron had never seen someone who seemed so experienced in bargaining and bending people to his will.

Mr. Smith didn't seem to be following though. He seemed so angry that it was impossible for him to even concentrate.

Aeron stepped closer to Faolan as Mr. Smith glared at them.

"Do you want the merchandise or not?" Faolan was saying.

"Where is your…contract?" This was the first time she had heard Smith speak. Unlike Faolan's, his voice was light a little higher than a male's voice should be. She heard he had a strong accent that she didn't recognize. At first she thought it was English or British but it didn't quite sound like either one. He pressed his hand to his slicked-back black hair as Faolan produced the piece of paper from his back pocket that Smith had so inappropriately named the contract.

Faolan scribbled some words on the piece of paper and handed it back to Smith.

_I, the client of Faolan and Aeron, swear that I_

_will not go to the police about anything discu-_

_sed in this meeting. Anything I say outside this_

_wearhouse will be to my very rich friends about_

_how great this business is._

_X………………….._

Faolan was most definitely not a lawyer or a great speller for that matter. His grammar wasn't that wonderful either, but Aeron said nothing. She had to stifle a laugh as Smith scanned the words and frowned with disapproval. He signed nonetheless and even pricked his finger with some reluctance. A drop spilled on the page and he gave Faolan a you-will-pay look.

Faolan just smirked.

"Your friend should be less cocky. It could get him into trouble in the future. Miss Charleson?"

Aeron was surprised to hear him use her last name. "Yes?"

"I was commanded to deliver a message from my master to you." With those words, he handed her a folded piece of elegant looking paper unlike the crumpled one Faolan had used. Smith left rather stiff-legged but other than that, he seemed to have gotten over his previous anger after he had delivered his note.

When Smith was completely out of hearing, Faolan ask, his voice full of anticipation, "Well, what does it say?"

"I don't know." As she scanned the words, her heart skipped two beats and she felt even more nauseous than before.

_Miss Aeron Charleson, _

_Out of courtesy I would like you to know that you must choose now the biggest thing in your life: who you will stand with when the world comes to an end. You and Quetzalxochitl must make this decision alone and completely uninfluenced. _

_I will not attempt to sway you like the others you will meet. However, I will tell you that this world will end and that if you do not choose your friends carefully, you will be destroyed along with it—you and Quetzalxochitl._

_There is no need to rush. Do not make your decision hastily. It may end you. I warn you as your friend and mentor: join me, and enjoy riches and pleasures beyond your wildest imaginations or do not, and suffer the consequences. Your choice. _

_I bid you heed this warning; the next one will not be so friendly and—mind you—generous._

_Sincerely, _

_He Who Roams the Darkness_

The words were sweet yet completely unnerving. How did this man—whoever he was—know so much about her and her sister? And what did he mean, "When the world comes to an end?" Her head spun, and she felt like she might fall. Luckily, Faolan's hand was ready to catch her as it positioned itself on her shoulder to balance her.

"What did you say to him!? He knew my name! He knew Quetzy! How did he know?" Aeron was suddenly filled with rage and directed it towards Faolan.

"Nothing. I said nothing. You know we can't…don't." He suddenly changed his words, probably to ensure she would not scream about the business being the cause of this. As good as he was, he could not have run it alone and he didn't want to take the chance of her leaving.

"I don't know what the—" he stopped himself before he swore and he knew how much she hated that. "What he was talking about or why he knew so much but, Aeron," His gaze instantly reassured her, "Haven't I always been here? I'll protect you." The last sentence sounded like a line from a really cheesy action movie made in the early twenty-first century.

She thought about saying something like, "But who will protect you?" just to add to the drama but it didn't fit and she decided against it.

"Come on, let's get out of here," he said propelling her forward. She realized as she stepped into the sunshine that didn't go with her mood that this had been the quickest, most terrifying business meeting she had ever attended. Did Faolan feel this uneasy? Maybe it was just her. She had felt worse in class today, too. Maybe faking sick for so long had actually made her sick

Faolan pulled out of the warehouse parking lot in his vehicle first. It was better that way since she didn't know where they were going.

It was already two o'clock. They couldn't be gone long. Quetzy would be getting out of school soon. She thought about calling Faolan on his car phone but then decided it would be better just to enjoy the ride while she had no worries and nothing to think about.

Unfortunately, thinking about car phones made her remember reading about the invention of phones on world history.

Turns out, in the late twentieth century and carrying on into the early twenty-first, someone had invented a device called cell phones. Huge companies like Corr Wireless, Verizon, T-Mobile, AT&T and various others sprung up and claimed the cell phone market. They came first in bulky shells that humans tired of, and then progressed into smaller versions with stylish colors and shapes that everyone fell in love with.

People became so obsessed with the things that they never put them down—even when they were driving. Aeron found this quite unbelievable but according to her never-wrong textbook, it was fact.

Many lives became endangered and some were lost. Motorcyclists especially were at risk without any form of protection over them. Eventually (though a bit delayed), a law was passed that cell phones were not allowed in cars period. This also led to a law about radios and various other things that distract even the most careful drivers.

Basically, the cell phone companies crumbled but a new wireless contacting device arose in its place. The company was called Wayward because the device was created just as the world was coming out of the Second Dark Ages.

The device was actually a 'more advanced model' of something that was put in cars much earlier in the twentieth century but this was voice activated. It was first invented towards the end of the twenty-first century and lasted until the mid-twenty second century when Wayward developed a better program called Rote—technology repeating itself over and over again but, this time, done right.

The problem with the first device was that you had to be extremely specific when dialing people's numbers or saying their names. Rote was simpler. All you had to do was simply think the name of number and Rote called the person for you.

Of course, it wasn't as simple as just thinking it. You had to wear a special head device that, first, was very large and uncomfortable. But like all things, the headset changed. Aeron remembered reading about a thing called Bluetooth and how it worked with cell phones in the early twenty-first century. That's what Rote sort of looked like. People just called them car phones now.

She didn't ever use Rote which was programmed into all cars—even the older models like the one she owned. She rarely wore the headset or called anyone from it. She felt the whole purpose of it was insignificant and that the idea that something would just keep coming alive no matter how many times it was destroyed was ridiculous.

So she decided against calling Faolan who was speeding far ahead of her in pursuit of some place to go. In fact, she turned the car phone on silent altogether. She glanced at the clock built into her car. It kept creeping closer and closer to three o'clock. She would need to be heading back.

Faolan, who was now about three cars ahead of her, pulled onto a ramp that led off the interstate and into some place called Risedale, according to the green Exit sign. She knew that was a good ways away from Ickes. _Faolan, where on New Earth are you going?_ She smiled despite herself.

He turned into an old parking lot that belonged to a building that either burned down or had been condemned and recently demolished. Parts of walls and desks and shelves lay around. Grass was sprouting out of the concrete. Faolan got out before Aeron and trotted over to her car.

"Feel better?" he questioned with a goofy grin on his face. The truth was, she didn't but she wouldn't let him know that.

She nodded her head warily. He seemed unsatisfied but changed the subject. "You know what today is?"

"What?" She didn't know or care but she humored him.

"Today, May 5, 2309" he announced grandly, "Is the first year anniversary of the day the business was born." He smiled and continued, "Of course, you didn't come on board with me until later." He winked. "I'm glad you changed your mind."

She wanted to smile but she couldn't. It was hard to be playful with him when she was so concerned about her sister.

"I wish you would talk to me, Aeron." He declared and did a ninety-degree turn around, obviously not playing anymore.

"Faolan, you know what's bothering me. Can you not think about me for once?" She bit her lip and regretted saying that. It wasn't true, but she was so worried and she wasn't thinking about what she was saying.

Luckily, Faolan had known her long enough to understand her pain and held his tongue. She loved that about him. He knew her so well, though he had yet to figure him out. She looked up into his scared face. What was she searching for? Answers? If so, then to what questions? She thought about touching his face; tracing his deep burns in some futile attempt at reading his mind. Those scars. It was a rare thing to be let into Faolan's mind.

"I'm sorry but I can't stay here. I have to go back to Ickes. Quetzy gets out of school at three. So do I. But I don't know if I can go back, Faolan."

"No. No, that's not an option, Aeron. We already talked about this." He paused. "Is it _him_ again?" He said 'him' with much distaste in his voice. It wasn't jealousy in it; it was more protective than anything and, for some reason, this made Aeron angry.

"No, not really." She blew him off with short answers. "I just can't handle being a parent and a kid at the same time."

"No one ever gave you that role, Aeron. You took that on by yourself." His words were awakening, but his tone kind.

"Do you really think Nathan would take care of her? That—" she stopped herself from saying something she would eventually regret, "He can barely take care of himself, let alone a child.

For a brief moment, Faolan looked as if he was in serious thought. Was he seriously considering her words? A look of pain washed over him briefly, but she thought it vanished quite suddenly.

"Faolan, I'm sorry but I really do have to go." Her eyes almost filled with tears as he turned around without saying a word to her. She wanted to call to him but she didn't want to sound desperate or clingy. After all, Faolan was her friend—just her friend.

He got into his car silently. The movement was so graceful it almost made Aeron mad. But she wasn't mad at him because he seemed so much more sophisticated and older and wiser than her; it was because he had completely left her without saying anything. And when she was so scared too. She wanted to believe he had something important to do, but Faolan, like her, didn't do anything other than the business.

Aeron couldn't stand to wait in the parking lot any longer. She got in her car, slammed the door, cranked it (her car was not voice activated like the newer models), and drover back to Ickes.

The drive back didn't seem as long as the drive up. It was probably because there was no anticipation; no questions to be answered. She knew exactly where she was going and why. Yes, back to the small, quiet town of Ickes where she had grown up for as long as she could remember.

_She sat quietly in the backseat of a long black limo. It was the first time she had been sitting quietly since they left. She was frightened. She was absolutely positive she did not want to get out of the limo but she didn't want to sit inside it for another second._

_She squirmed but then remembered who was sitting beside her. She instantly sat up straighter and stiffer than before and didn't move again until they pulled into an ugly looking trailer park. She didn't move until she was practically pushed out of the limo by rough hands with only a small bag of belongings and an envelope containing a letter that she had been forbidden to read._

_There was suddenly a man standing before her. He looked like he hadn't washed in weeks, and his clothes were soiled with something that smelled terrible. She wrinkled her nose as he approached, lifted her off the ground, spun her around, and hugged her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the limo speed away and suddenly, all memory of everything—everything—was gone._

Aeron's flashback was interrupted by the honking horn of a big tow truck carrying a wrecked vehicle that was so mangled she couldn't tell what sort of car it was.

It had brought back old memories that had been stored in the smallest niches of her mind and buried away for years. Thinking back, she couldn't remember anything about the day she came to live with Nathan except the limo.

The only other thing that stood out in her mind was a white dress she was almost certain she had been wearing. She couldn't remember it, sadly. She hoped it was in storage or something. She hoped even more that it hadn't been thrown out with most of her other possessions.

Another angry driver, who evidently didn't approve of her driving abilities, sped past her and gave her a few inappropriate gestures. She tried to ignore them, but stupid people like that reminded her of other people she wasn't so fond of. They made her want to go home and hurt someone.

She breathed in and out slowly trying to get her heart to stop beating up against her chest so hard. Something had caused her to be nervous today, but she wasn't sure what. Something was very wrong; she could feel it.

The Ickes Elementary School looked like it had been completely abandoned. It almost looked like the warehouse she had left not too long ago. There were a few rowdy kids running around the parking lot, a teacher sitting in a metal folding chair with a magazine, and Quetzy sitting; reading her little e-book in the middle of it all. She looked up from the book that she had previously been absorbed in when she heard Aeron's car. She smiled brightly and ran to the car before Aeron could sign her out on the sheet of paper the teacher was holding.

The teacher looked rather pleased to have one of the children gone, or, maybe she was dreading the next moments with the other four children. How could Aeron blame her when the only child behaving was leaving?

She didn't want to take Quetzy home but she didn't want to go anywhere either. She needed a shower after the afternoon's business meeting and probably a new change of clothes. Quetzy started talking the moment they were both sitting in the car. Aeron buckled her seatbelt and gave her sister a look that told her to follow suit.

Aeron didn't ever wear her seatbelt except for when Quetzy was in the car with her since they were so bulky and uncomfortable. Seatbelts used to be small and light, but the government had come up with another set of rules on how to keep everyone safe. They installed "new and improved" seatbelts that were "guaranteed to work better than any of the older, unsophisticated models."

Everyday another set of rules came out. Everyday there were new way to keep people in line, make them behave better, and keep them supposedly safer. Every man, woman, and child in this New World was a puppet to the government. It was all a big show. They supposedly did what the people want to keep themselves in power but rarely what the people need. They just made it seem like it with their fancy seatbelts, Rotes, and radios.

As much as she hated the word, she came to believe that its meaning was more and more truth everyday. Everything was all a big _conspiracy_. That's right. She said it. _Conspiracy._

"Aeron," she was brought out of her thoughts by Quetzy calling her name, "I'm hungry."

"Okay, I think we have something at home." She really didn't believe that but she hoped there was something left after Nathan's friends had last polished out the cabinets.

"Okay." Her tone was dejected. Quetzy didn't want to be at that house any more than Aeron did. She shook her head. She didn't want Quetzy to be somewhere that she didn't want to be. But what could she do?

She looked at her sister with pleading eyes. Quetzy was looking down, playing with her fingers with the most depressing look on her face. It was sickening to see such a sweet, innocent child in so much pain. Though it wasn't physical pain, which she had experienced before; it was mental, which was worse. Aeron made another silent vow to herself that she would take Quetzy away from here.

The school year was almost over. Aeron wasn't going to attend high school the following year. She had been turning the idea around in her head for weeks not. It wasn't a plan but if it was necessary to keep Quetzy safe, so be it.

You couldn't be anything in this New World if you didn't finish school, and Aeron realized that being nothing was what she was truly afraid of. She wanted to be accepted by someone or something, and it was obvious that society wasn't going to do that.

Quetzy was more important, and Aeron would do anything for her. She would leave this forsaken place and take her baby sister with her, no matter what sacrifice it took on her part. She reached over and put her hand on Quetzy's shoulder. The kid looked up at her, her eyes no longer sad. She smiled down weakly and Quetzy beamed back. That did the trick.

_What a kid, _she thought. _I sure as hell don't deserve her._ Quetzy was so smart and had so much potential. How in the New World had she ended up in Nathan's care? When Aeron had come to live with that son of a gun, Quetzy had already been there. Of course, Quetzy had been a baby, and Aeron had been seven or eight. It didn't take long for Aeron to realize that she would be keeping tabs on the baby. In doing that, she came to love the little girl. They were sisters.

The weird people were gone, but another person had apparently just got home from work. Aeron hadn't realized how late it was. The clock in her car read four thirty-seven. She swore under her breath and Quetzy looked up at her with an unreadable look on her face. "Sorry," She murmured.

Quetzy glanced down.

"It's a habit," she whispered, "I'm working on it."

Nathan was sprawled out on the couch watching the news on the small television screen with a beer on the table beside him and a cigarette in his hand. They didn't have enough money for a decent television set. He didn't acknowledge their presence until Quetzy walked past him. "Hey," his voice was hoarse probably from the night before shouting with his drunken friends. "Hey, kiddo. Are you gonna give your dad a hug or what?"

Quetzy looked tense and Aeron winced.

Nonetheless, Quetzy walked over to him stiffly and wrapped her tiny arms around his neck. He patted her head and she practically sprinted back to Aeron. Aeron put her hands on Quetzy's head and led her into the kitchen. She picked her up and set her on the counter. She leaned in close and whispered in her ears, "He's not your father."

Quetzy nodded.

"Good. Now," she raised her voice loud enough for Nathan to hear, "Let's see if we have anything to eat." She opened a cupboard that was stuck and groaned when she yanked it. There was nothing in it save an old box of cereal. It was an off brand called Cheerios. On the back it said 'Serving You Since 1956.'

"Ugh," Aeron groaned to herself. She grabbed it anyway and smiled brightly at Quetzy. "Yum! Did you know people have eaten this cereal since 1956?"

Quetzy's eyes got bright. "So cave people ate this stuff?"

"Um…maybe." She thought quickly. "You know, I think they did." She grabbed a bowl from the sink and began rinsing. When it was clean enough to eat out of, she poured some milk into it. Next came the Cheerios. She dumped all of it that was there into the bowl.

"There. Looks good doesn't it?" She said beaming.

"Why is it moving?"

"What?" She looked at the bowl and its contents. The O's _were_ moving. Something was crawling beneath and emerging slowly to the surface.

Two cockroaches—each about an inch long—scurried out into view. Quetzy screamed and ran behind Nathan's couch.

"What the hell?" he yelled hoarsely.

Quetzy screamed again. Aeron quickly dumped the bowl and squashed the two cockroaches—which had fallen off the table and into the floor—with her shoe.

Nathan was shouting something she couldn't understand very loudly and it looked like his incoherent words were directed towards Quetzy who was cowering in a corner. This infuriated Aeron.

She ran to her and took her hand. She led her to a chair stuffed into another corner by the television. Quetzy was so frightened. She was still whimpering loudly despite Aeron's best efforts to comfort her.

Nathan shouted, "Shut up, kid! I've got a hangover and I'm trying to watch T.V.!"

"Don't worry. We're leaving." Aeron really wanted a hot shower but it could wait.

"Where do you think you're going, little girl?"

Aeron was quite insulted but blew off the comment. "Your friends ate every bit of the edible food in this house and left us this…this…bug-filled cereal. We're going to get something to eat and stock the cupboards. Plus, I would hate to disturb you any further."

Nathan was obviously furious and looked ready to beat her, but what else was new? "You will not go anywhere!" he screamed.

"Are you gonna stop me? You can't get yourself off the couch, let alone stop _me_ from doing _anything_." She the rise in pitch and volume of her voice. She felt herself waver when Nathan stood looking much taller to her than he ever had before.

"Fine. Leave. Like I care what _you_ do anyhow. Just leave _her_ with _me_," He pointed at Quetzy with a shaky finger. "You may be able to drive away, but she's still mine." Nathan looked pleased, probably thinking he had played his trump card. But Aeron still had hers that she had been saving for twelve years.

"You are not her father. You won't touch her." She declared without any smile on her face. "Come on, Quetzy. Let's go." She pulled her sister to the door hoping Nathan wouldn't decide to advance any further. She might have been able to talk smart but she could never overpower the big man. He groaned as if standing alone was such an effort.

"Oh…" He held his head.

Aeron breathed a sigh of relief and walked out the front door after she grabbed Quetzy's windbreaker.

"You'll be back!" She heard Nathan shout as they headed for her car. "And when you do I'll be waiting!"

She wanted to yell something smart back at him but couldn't think of anything._ Oh, what are we gonna do? Where are we gonna go?_ They couldn't go back here. Not now. Not after she had stood up to him like that. She couldn't do that to Quetzy. Nathan was unstable and angry and there was no telling what he might do in his drunken state.

Aeron had about three hundred dollars in her secret stash she kept in her car from her cut in the business. That was good but it wasn't anywhere close to what they would need to get away. As she slammed the door and cranked the car, she glanced at the gage. It was on E. Great. Another thing to add to their list of recently acquired problems. They were never going to be able to pull this off. Maybe Nathan was right. Maybe they would have to come back. No. She forced herself not to think that way.

She could worry about their escape later. Right now she had to get some food before Quetzy started crying again. She was still sniffing in the seat beside her but that was mostly because of Nathan—not because of the food or the bugs. She wanted to pull the child into her arms and comfort her but she couldn't now. Instead, she held out her hand. Quetzy grasped it and held it to her face. Her tears were warm and flowing. She had to think of something quick.

It was getting dark. The streetlights were coming on and the police were hiding in secluded places and dark parking lots waiting; watching for those who didn't seem quite right to them. Aeron didn't like the police now-a-days. She remembered reading about a time where they actually did their job and didn't abuse their power. Now they just took in whoever they wanted, whether they were doing wrong or not.

But whenever the night brought unpleasant things, there was always one thing that always gave her comfort. The moon. It shined brightly in the sky above. The man on the moon smiled down on her little car and Quetzy. It made her wonder about aliens and other worlds. But those thoughts were silly.

A loud beep came from Aeron's Rote. A message flashed on the buzzer. _You Have One New Message._ She saw out of the corner of her eye Quetzy glance at her. She was worried that it was Nathan. "It's okay. I'm just gonna check it," she reassured.

Quetzy seemed to relax but not enough to make Aeron feel better. She snapped the Rote into place behind her ear and thought the words, "_Check messages."_

The pleasant monotonous voice that came with all Rotes said politely, "First unheard message sent today at two forty eight p.m."

Another voice—one that wasn't fake or recorded and one she recognized—came over the Rote. "Hey…um…Aeron? Look, I'm sorry for leaving like I did but I…I didn't feel right, you know? Ugh. I can't do this. Are you there? I really need to talk to you. Fine, but Kramer is coming up to the warehouse. He's got some new merchandise for us and I would like you to be there. Anyway, I—OUCH! SON OF A—" the message ended.

She wished she hadn't turned the Rote on silent earlier today. She would've got the message, picked up Quetzy, and been at the warehouse right now with Faolan. She could already see the bright lights of the city, with its fancy restaurants and beer stores, neon signs blinking grandly as if they actually had something to offer customers.

Aeron found a parking lot to turn around in and sped away from the lights and food and towards the warehouse where Faolan and Kramer were.

"Where are we going?" Quetzy's voice broke as it went up a pitch.

"We're going to see Faolan. He has some food for us." She didn't seem to believe her, but Aeron had to get to Faolan. Even if his message hadn't been urgent his last words scared the crap out of her. What if someone had hurt him? What if one of their customers had gotten angry because he wouldn't agree to let them out of signing his stupid contract? What if he was…dead? No, he couldn't be. Faolan was strong and would never give in to anyone. He wouldn't.

The more she thought about it, the more frantic she became. She played the message over and over listening for some new information. "…would like you to be there. Anyway, I—OUCH! SON OF A—"

"…Anyway, I—OUCH! SON OF A—"

"…OUCH! SON OF A—"

She couldn't listen anymore. She slipped the Rote of her ear and attempted to put it back in its place by the radio. Her hands were shaking so bad that she dropped it in the floor. "Crap."

She leaned down to pick it up but stayed down for longer than she expected. She felt around for it but couldn't see it in the dark. "Hit the light for me, will ya'?" She heard Quetzy lean over and the light click. She could see the Rote easier now as light flooded through the car.

As she was coming up from the floor, she heard Quetzy scream. All of her senses kicked into overdrive. The scream was louder; the headlights from the other car were brighter. Her adrenaline rushed, and she swerved to miss the car going much too fast.

Something was wrong. It wasn't Quetzy's scream she heard. It was Faolan's.

She realized in all the confusion that they were already at the warehouse. There were two cars parked: one Faolan's; the other a bright yellow Barracuda. The meeting had already started, and something was terribly wrong. Faolan was in pain. She felt utterly helpless knowing there was nothing she could do to help him.

She couldn't move the car fast enough to avoid a collision. The other car slammed into the back of her car on the passenger side. The car lurched and suddenly sped up and into the ditch. It turned sideways on Aeron's side, and broken glass pierced into the side of her head. The car did one more flip before coming to a stop, landing on its hood.

Quetzy was still screaming as she and Aeron dangled upside down. Everything spun for about five second until it all went black.

* * *

Red and blue lights blinked furiously as sirens wailed. Everything hurt. It hurt when she was still. It hurt to move. It hurt to breath; it hurt not to. Someone was saying something to her, but she couldn't hear clearly. The sound was muffled. It sounded like she was under water. Finally, her ears popped, and she was able to hear the person talking to her clearly. Well, almost clearly. The voice was too beautiful to be a human's. She was sure she was still dazed.

"Are you alright? Are you okay? Just sit still and I'll have you out of here in a second." It was a man's voice but it sounded young.

She tried to talk back, but her vocal cords didn't seem to work. She felt herself being tugged and pulled by strong hands. The broken glass from her window dug into her skin. She felt warm blood trickle down her arms. Her hair was matted against her head. She felt sticky all over.

The air smelled funny. Nothing looked right to her. Everything seemed different. The stars weren't right in the sky and the moon didn't seem as comforting as it had before. Even the man on the moon glowered at her menacingly. It made her shiver.

"Are you cold?" The man said. She turned towards him so she could get a better look. He was just a boy with a soft face and kind eyes.

"Oh," she started, "You're—"

"Young? I know. I get that a lot. I'm one of those rare people that get the gift of eternal life." He smiled at her, and she attempted to smile at him, but she kept thinking that he was either crazy or very obsessed with his looks. "Here," He said handing her his jacket. It smelled funny too, but somehow she was able to forget that as she gazed into his eyes.

They were rosy colored and seemed like never ending pools of beauty. She had never seen red eyes. It was so strange. "What's your name?" He asked her in his boyish voice.

"Aeron." Something was still wrong, but she couldn't help but tell the boy her name. "Where's my sister?" Some parts of her brain were starting to work again, and she able to think a bit clearer.

"Your sister? Oh, yes. You mean the little girl in the car with you? Yes. She is right here. Safe."

She gradually noticed her surroundings. There were tons of police cars with their lights flaring and Quetzy sitting in one with a blanket wrapped around her. She seemed to be crying, but Aeron still was having a hard time getting her bearings. Quetzy? Car? Safe? The words seemed unfamiliar. How could Quetzy even be alive? The other car had slammed into the passenger side where she had been sitting. Had she even been wearing her seatbelt? Aeron couldn't remember making her put it on. She was so little. She couldn't have survived through that. She couldn't…

There was something else. In another car, not far from where she and the boy sat, was another boy. He looked to be about Aeron's age. He wore a baggy shirt with ugly stripes and uncomfortable bracelets on each wrist. His hair was messed up and in terrible need of a combing. His face was scrunched up like he smelled something bad. Aeron smelled it too.

She reached up and put her hand to her throbbing head. She was so confused. When she pulled her hand back down, it was sticky, and she inspected it. The crash had left a huge gash on her head where the glass shards from the broken windshield had pierced her.

"Quetzalxochitl is too frightened to tell us much. That's why it was so vital to have you awake. We need to get a reliable statement." The boy stated bringing Aeron back to him.

"What about the other driver? Couldn't he…or she…give a statement?" She felt like she had just woken up from a deep sleep and found herself in some alternate universe.

The boy smiled, "We cannot find the other driver. Apparently it fled the scene." If not for the stray glance into his eyes, Aeron would've thought calling a human being 'it' was very strange, but once again she was swimming in those rosy eyes. "So, Miss Charleson, what happened?" He said waking her up from the trance.

"I was on my Rote." It was so easy to talk to him now. "I dropped it and bent down to get it when Quetzy screamed. There was a car in my lane and we collided. My car flipped and that's all I remember." She felt like she was leaving out something but she couldn't remember anything further.

"So, then you say it is your fault?" the boy said. She looked up at his name tag that read Radley.

"No. No, the driver was in my lane. It wasn't my fault." Some of her dizziness was starting to wear off.

"But you were not watching the road. It was your fault. Don't you see? If you had been watching, you would have had time to move out of the way for the other car. Am I wrong?"

Aeron wanted to justify herself, but her mind was clouded, and she couldn't find the words to argue. "I suppose not."

"Good! Then you'll come with us?"

"Sure." She had been defeated but she didn't know how.

"You have made a wise decision, Miss Charleson."

Suddenly something clicked. "Faolan!"

Radley stopped dead in his tracks and looked at her with hate. "What did you say?" His voice was no longer soft. He seemed angry.

"Faolan. My…my friend…I think…"

"No. He's not your friend. We must go, now!"

"Oh, okay." She was too exhausted to argue with Radley. He couldn't mean her any harm anyway. There was just something intoxicating about him.

"Good, Miss Charleson. Good." Aeron furrowed her brows. Was this the first time he had called her that?

"How did you know my last name?" Had it been the first time he had used it in a sentence? Or maybe it was just the first time _she_ had heard it.

"Don't you remember? You told me your name." he justified.

"No. No, I told you my name was Aeron. I didn't tell you my last name." She gasped. "I didn't tell you my last name!" Suddenly everything was dreadfully clear. The man who sent her the letter knew her name too. He also knew Quetzy. How was all this possible?

Then she remembered Faolan. She remembered him screaming as the car spun out of control. She had to get to him. They were still by the warehouse, and his car was still there. "Aeron!" Radley shouted. "You have to come with me. Faolan had lied to you. He is not who you think he is. Why do you think he has looked after you all these years? Because he cared about you? No. He has lied to you. He wants you to join him when the world ends."

There was that phrase. When the world ends.

"No. He couldn't have." She found tears streaming down her face. Why was Radley doing this to her? She felt so helpless.

"Come with me. I'll explain everything." His voice was soft again.

She nodded and began to follow him to the car where Quetzy was now sleeping peacefully. "Why don't you sit here while I get something for you?"

She didn't object. He went behind the car and retrieved something from the trunk. "Here, all you have to do is sign this."

That seemed harmless enough. "I need a pen." She declared.

"Oh, no. You won't need a pen. All you have to do is prick your littlest finger. Sign on the dotted line please." Radley said confidently.

Suddenly, Aeron felt the fear that so many of her and Faolan's clients had felt before. She felt like she was about to sign her life away but she couldn't resist the impulse to take the knife Radley was producing from behind his back. "That's it. Right there." All of a sudden, Radley's eyes didn't look so inviting anymore. They were fiery, but Aeron couldn't find it in her to look away.

The knife uncontrollably slipped as she pricked her finger. She was just about to sign when a distant voice that she somewhat recognized called to her. "Stop! Wait!" She looked up but the face she remembered didn't go along with the voice she heard.

Some man was running to her. He was tall, dark, and was wearing only his jeans. His voice was deep and raspy. It sounded like it belonged to a wolf. A word slipped from her mouth, "Kramer?" She had never met the man Faolan admired so much but somehow, she knew this was him.

Radley shrieked. The shriek was loud and long. It couldn't have belonged to the boy that she had been so attracted to before. She was somehow able to awake from the dream she had been living in since the crash. She had only noticed Radley's eyes but now, she saw him for the first time fully.

His skin was pale and crinkly. It looked paper thin, like she could easily tear it off his face. His lips were now thirsty; hungry for blood. He pushed her into the car and slammed the door. Quetzy woke up and began screaming wildly again. Aeron went to open the door to escape, but the locks came down by themselves and Aeron and Quetzy were trapped.

Kramer darted out of the way as Radley attempted to collide into him. His dark form shadowed him against the night. "You promised not to interfere," Kramer accused.

"Well, you know me—always lying; breaking my promises."

"You are bound by your word, Nightshader."

"Ah, but it wasn't my word I gave. It was his." Radley pointed to the ground and smiled wickedly.

"Nightshader, you cannot touch her. She is ours."

"Go and get her." he challenged.

Kramer pushed past Radley and ran towards the car. Aeron banged on the window and Quetzy screamed louder. "Hold still!" he shouted. "I'm coming to get you!"

"Look out!" Aeron yelled. Radley was coming behind Kramer, his teeth barred. He slammed him hard on the head with his bare hands and Kramer slumped to the ground. All hope was now lost as Radley strode confidently to the other side of the car.

None of them saw the figure crawling down the hill for it was cloaked in the shadows. Radley spoke the car to life, "On," Aeron didn't remember cars starting so easily with just one word sentences. He continued, "Go," but the car wouldn't move. He growled and opened the door. Cursing under his breath, he walked around to the back to find that the wheels were stuck in the ruts.

Aeron was the first to see the figure. In the beginning she thought it was another one of what Kramer had called a Nightshader, or worse. But then she saw it was only a harmless dog. It crept towards Radley slowly and quietly. She wanted to warn it but she couldn't seem to find her voice. It stood on its hind legs and towered over the Nightshader.

A shadow swept over the police car and those inside it. Radley looked up cautiously. The dog growled, and a light burst from the creature. There was a scream but nothing else afterward. Aeron's eyes slowly adjusted, and Faolan was standing beside her, opening the door.

Another shriek came from behind the car as Radley's scorched face came into view. "You will pay with your soul, Wolf!' He cried.

Faolan ignored him and said in a new voice that Aeron almost didn't recognize, "Come on. We're leaving."

**Author's note:** I realize that after reading several times upon finished this chapter, it seems to move a bit too fast and Aeron's train of thought sort of drifts from thing to thing. I am working on this problem and trying to tweak anything that will hamper the flow of the story. I think I have been able to correct the bulk of the grammatical errors, though I'm sure I've unfortunately missed some. I deeply hope you enjoyed this chapter and I promise, there will be more to come. Thank you.

~Shawna Damien


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

May 5, 2309-12:23p.m.

**THE WORLD—PLANET** Earth—has just recovered from the longest, hardest depression known to Earth's grandchildren as the Second Dark Ages.

"_In the twenty-first century, a series of cruel, unjust leaders rose into power all over the world. The United States of America seemed to be the only nation left standing at the end of it all. _

"_The countries that got the brunt of the attack, it seemed, were Ireland, Germany, Wales, England, Italy, and a few parts of South America. The reason, of course, was that they had the worst leaders. _

"_A man by the name of Zoltan György gained power in 2056 and took over most of Europe. He was born and raised in Hungary by a step uncle, also the town drunk. He mistreated Zoltan and turned him into a hard adult who sought out power and death. _

"_He was able to conquer some of Asia before his violent, unexpected death in 2079—just before his fifty-seventh birthday. He was inside his home when a powerful earthquake occurred. He fell along with one of his prized busts of himself. It crashed on his head killing him instantly. After that, the people of Europe fell into a state of utter anarchy._

"_Europe's economy plummeted. Its people went bankrupt and many were forced to sell everything they owned in order to survive. They lived on the streets begging or stealing from those few who had something left._

"_People stopped keeping records of names, dates, and places, leaving new generations no way to keep up with their ancestors and their doings. Historians today have no chronicles of human living during the Second Dark Ages except for few remnants and traces of footprints left in the well-treaded sand._

"_It seemed that the balance of nature itself was affected by all the chaos and destruction and the state that the world was in. Extreme earthquakes, flooding, and all manner of natural disasters broke out for one hundred and twenty years, long after the cruel dictator, Zoltan György, was dead."_

He felt her hot stare burning the hairs on his neck to ash. He knew what she would say though he couldn't help but breathe the word as she called his name. "Sh–." he had spoken so quietly he didn't consider his swearing wrong. No one had heard him. There was nothing to be ashamed of.

Why had he spoken the word? Truly, there was no cause for it. On any other occasion, Aeron calling his name would have been taken as a pick-me-up; it would have brightened his entire day. But he knew as well as she and the rest of the class did that she had only called on him to get back at him for their previous argument. He hated it when she played the, I'm-gonna-make-you-read-in-history card.

There wasn't much he hated. He could put up with just about anything. But if there was anything that bothered him to the point that he would do anything to get out of, it was world history. It hadn't always bothered him like it did now. His grades weren't giving much to like, as if their opinion would really matter anyway. It seemed that from the moment he walked in the cursed room, this feeling of sadness and fatigue washed over him. He had gotten pretty good at ignoring it but it still bothered him from time to time. Even now, he had been sitting quietly—not really paying attention—but he wasn't bothered. Not until she had called on him to read, that is.

"Drake," she had called hoarsely from the back of the room up to his front row seat.

He felt that part of the awkwardness he felt in this room was due to Aeron. Who wouldn't feel awkward if someone like that hated you and made a point to tell you…_everyday!_

Today for instance. It had started out as any normal day would. He got up, put on clothes, brushed his teeth, etc. And look where it had ended up: Aeron making him read out of the history book just to get back him. And for what? For making a simple suggestion, that's what.

_What can you do?_ He thought wryly and began reading.

He couldn't concentrate on what he was reading. He only hoped he was saying what was on the book and not random thoughts pulled out of nowhere. No, people would be laughing if that were the case. People were almost always laughing when he was around. He was funny like that. No one really took him seriously. That was okay with him most of the time. He liked it better that way. Things were mellower. He liked that word. _Mellow._

People were starting to stare. Had he said the word aloud? That would have just been retarded.

_J—a–._

He thought another word he should have avoided. He instantly wanted to kick himself. He might have said that out loud too. No one was looking anymore. Who knows why they were looking. _What's Aeron doing? _He wondered. She could have moved a little in the short amount of time it had taken him to read what little he had. He glanced over his shoulder to see.

Her head was resting on her palm. Her eye lids were closing slowly and then pulling back open quickly as if they were getting what sleep they could before the teacher could see. When her eyes were open, she seemed distant. _What's she thinking about? _He questioned.

Her black makeup had begun to run from all the cursed humidity that the rain had left behind after its relentlessness all week. It made her eyes look sadder than they usually did.

Aeron was quite insistent on dressing all in black. She must have thought it was cool or something. He thought it was comical. He could never take her seriously as a Goth, or Emo, or vampire, or whatever she was trying to portray. His reason was a little childish but he couldn't help it. He had never seen a Goth with blonde hair. Even if they had blonde hair, or any other color besides black for that matter, they dyed it to fit their quo.

Aeron, because she was against animal testing which was used in order to sell the dye, wouldn't use it to color her hair. Aeron was a beautiful girl. Drake couldn't help but think how much prettier she would be if she wouldn't try so hard to be different. Another reason she hated him. She called it 'fantasizing' about her and her looks. She was partly right. He had a girlfriend. Such thoughts of other girl's beauty shouldn't even be crossing his mind.

"…_Fortunately, the US was spared and rising from it, came a great leader who saved our government and economy, Malaci Decorr._

_The New World government and leader has introduced to a new way of living—a new way to be human—and has saved us from utter chaos. It has brought us into the world we know today that is safer and friendlier than any other we have known before."_

As the chapter concluded, he stopped reading. Now, that was brainwashing if he had ever heard it.

Spinelli, their less-than-qualified world history teacher, looked up from his book which he had most likely drooled on trying to pronounce György's name. Drake snickered at his inside joke that only he would ever know about. "Okay, let's discuss." Spinelli stood and walked over to the chalkboard. "Catelynne," he called awakening the girl that was two rows over from Drake in the front of the room. He furrowed his brows. _She's not new here is she?_ It wasn't that he had never noticed her. She just looked different today. _Did she get a haircut? Is that a new shirt?_ He would have known these things at any other time. He kept up with things like that.

No, her hair laid the same way it always had, surrounding her face; it was the same burnt orange color it had been since he had known her. She hadn't changed her style of attire lately. She didn't wear the black clothing Aeron did, and she didn't wear bright yellows and greens like other girls. She was a natural colors person. She had this homey, down to earth look about her. His eyes grew wider as he examined the mark on her face just under her eye. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought it was a dark circle formed from lack of sleep. But it wasn't. The sickly purple color made the rest of her face much paler in comparison. Or maybe she really was sick from the battering she had taken.

Drake's curiosity got the better of him and before he knew it, a hundred and one questions ran through his mind. _Was it an accident? Was it intentional? Who had done it? A parent maybe? A boyfriend?_ How could no one else see it? The bruise just sat there satisfied with the work it had done. It stared at Spinelli but he didn't question its presence. In fact, he did his best not to look at it altogether.

"Would you care to discuss?" He asked again completely ignoring everything Drake was suddenly so concerned about.

"Um…" She looked around the room confused. "I don't know."

Spinelli _tsk_ed and looked at her with disapproval. "Let me bestow upon you some knowledge then, shall I?" He said mockingly. Drake wanted to puke. He felt suddenly faint and boiling with anger. What sort of sick, twisted character is this man who shuns and ridicules the weak? Drake had never respected him in the way he respected his other teachers. Spinelli was a nuisance to him. He preyed on vulnerable, unguarded frailties of the susceptible.

Drake had watched girls his age fall into Spinelli's traps. He had felt the urge to call out to them, but they wouldn't have listened even if he hadn't been who he was. No one took him seriously and they were desperate. Desperate for what, Drake didn't know. If they were looking for love, they were looking in all the wrong places. _Wasn't that a song?_

The words, 'Was Zoltan a Bad Man?" were written on the chalkboard in a tight scrawl. Catelynne was answering was one of Spinelli's patronizing questions. Drake didn't even care to know where the discussion was going. He was tired of Spinelli's games. He closed his eyes in an attempt to shut out the anger washing over him.

He heard a new voice and he smiled despite himself. To think that Catelynne Burges hadn't been sophisticated enough to answer Spinelli's question and that somehow, in whatever abnormal world they were living in, Stephanie Dillion was. Oh, he had to hear this. He turned around in his seat to see her face as she delivered her response. "Well, he was bad. But that was because his step uncle was mean to him. Wasn't he really, really evil after that? It was his uncle's fault," she said looking much too please for such a simple answer as that.

Drake was a little disappointed. Her answers were normally much more…blonde.

Since grade school, Stephanie had always been a 'teacher's pet' so to speak. It obviously wasn't because she was smart or a good conversation starter. Her peers didn't welcome her company and she wasn't pleasant in any way. In truth, Stephanie's teachers liked her because they thought she was "special." They grinned at her childish responses to their questions that seemed well above her head.

In most cases at Ickes High, your appearance defined you. Stephanie Dillion was probably one of the prettiest girls on campus with her bright red hair and the tint of blonde underneath it, her bouncing curls, her figure and the shape of her face. She was a cheerleader and, as far as Drake knew, she was still going out with that jock quarterback, Stanley Fitcher. She fit the appearance quota but she wasn't defined by that. No one would ever appreciate her for her intelligence if she never showed any.

Spinelli was asking, "What is your reasoning? Oh, wait; let me guess, the textbook said so?" Spinelli strikes again with his speedy wit and dazzling charm. It made Drake sick. Or was it this room playing tricks again? He could never tell. "Okay, let's try this again. Nash? Olivia? Taban?" he called them one by one but no one would grace him. "Aeron," he said giving her no chance to object.

"He was good." Aeron was one of those people who would fight for what they believed in but she was willing to choose her fights carefully. She had gotten pretty good at deciding which battles were worth fighting and which ones weren't. This one wasn't.

So she answered and she elaborated when Spinelli prodded. "…maybe the textbooks are wrong," she was saying. Leave it to Aeron to buck the system.

Spinelli looked like he was considering the value of her answer. "Interesting theory. New discussion!" He walked to the chalkboard and wrote, "Could the Textbooks We Read Be Wrong? "Aeron." He waved his hand in her direction. "Since you presented us with this idea, why don't you share your opinion?"

Drake heard her sigh and smiled. She hated this room just as much as he did.

"I guess, well, maybe historians are lying to us. I mean, we weren't there. How can we know? How can we know the textbooks are real facts? Maybe they're wrong…maybe it's…a conspiracy."

It was all he could do not to laugh at her reply. _Conspiracy?_ _What's Aeron smoking? Where does she go off talking about that like this? She's gonna get expelled if she keeps it up. Spinelli'll kick her butt out of his room and Slanders'll be down here in a heartbeat, towing her all the way to his office._

People were groaning and rambling on. Drake thought Spinelli would loose it on Aeron. Talk of conspiracies and plots and The New World Government were all prohibited. You could go to prison if someone really hated you and heard you talking of such things. But you would have to really hate that person. Terrible things went on in prison these days. It wasn't a place of correction. It was a place of torture. Drake needed to be careful. If he seemed too engrossed in thought, Spinelli could tell Principal Slanders that he was _thinking_ about a conspiracy.

"Okay, okay. Though Miss Charleson may be wrong, it is an interesting thought to entertain. Now, does anyone oppose?" Spinelli was really telling everyone to _shut up_ politely.

Just as Stephanie was going to say something blonde and stupid, Drake heard Aeron's voice from the back of the row. "Mr. Spinelli, can I go to the nurse? I don't feel good." _Terrible grammar. _Drake thought. _And that wasn't the best lie either. _Spinelli, giving no care to Aeron's welfare or education, waved her away knowing she would not return.

Drake felt bad for Aeron. She was never going to make it in this New World if she didn't finish school. She was playing a losing game. Drake knew enough about Aeron to know that she wouldn't take the blame for her failure upon herself either. It would always be someone else's fault. Of course, no one really was encouraging her to do well in school. Drake had heard storied about her home life. Crazy step-dad, supporting a kid that wasn't hers, the works.

He turned around in his seat and watched her go. She turned and surveyed the room just before she left to go do whatever it was she did. She glanced at him and, while he held her eye, he winked trying to tell her that everything would be okay.

When she was gone, everything was deafly quiet. "Come on, guys," Spinelli started. "Just because Aeron has left the room doesn't mean our discussion has to end. Stephanie, why don't you continue your argument?"

Drake felt the tension in the room as Stephanie proceeded to tell the class why Aeron was wrong. Spinelli seemed less involved than he had all day. He half listened and hardly commented on what others would say.

Drake busied himself with watching the minute hand tick-tock around the clock. _Could it be any slower?_ He thought angrily. Suddenly, he was furious. Everything had been going fine today until Aeron and her hatred for him shoved their way through the door to this cursed room. _Cursed room._ This was _its_ fault! Everything bad happened to him in this room! He had known that this class didn't like him from the first day of the year. Being the kind of person that he was, Drake had been able to ignore the feeling of discomfort enough to make passing grades. His dad expected better of him, but it was all he could manage at this point.

The more he thought about the troubles this room had caused, the more outraged he became. He closed his eyes and instantly, his other senses became sharper. Spinelli's droning voice was louder but louder still was the ticking of the lethargic clock. He smelled the body odor of twenty hormone-filled teenagers ready to escape the lectures of one, Peter Spinelli. He felt the heat produced by them because of their odor.

_Happy thoughts, Drake. _He told himself. _Happy thoughts. Cupcakes and sugar and puppy-dog tails…_

He gripped the corner of his desk in order to remain in his seat. He feared he would cry out if he couldn't leave. At least for a moment to catch his breath. Would Spinelli even let him leave after Aeron had already gone?

He was already standing before he could help it. He shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other. Several of his classmates giggled. Spinelli, however, wasn't amused. "Is there a problem, Drake?" He asked with one brow raised. Drake scowled back at him. The proud teacher hadn't said anything directly demeaning towards him, but he felt ridiculed by the man's stare.

"I have to go to the bathroom, Sir," Drake said using his best formalities. Everyone began to laugh then. Something was obviously funny about that but Drake didn't see the humor. Apparently, neither did Spinelli. The two remained locked in a stare while the rest of the room doubled over.

Spinelli said through gritted teeth, "You are excused."

Drake didn't wait around to say his thanks before he darted out of the room without a glance over his shoulder. He felt as if he couldn't walk and slumped to the ground leaning up against the wall just outside Spinelli's room. He rocked back and forth with his eyes closed, willing the bell to ring. He couldn't go back in that room. Not now. Not ever.

If only it were that simple. His grades were more important to him than anything in the world. His dad had his heart set on him following his footsteps, right into the field of robotics. Sure, his father was a wealthy man. Sure, he had plenty of money to flaunt around as he pleased. Sure, he could afford to send him to college. But Drake's father was old fashioned. "I'll get you through school and take care of anything you need and want so long as you stay in school and keep your grades up while doing it," Paul Irving had said time and time again.

Drake would have never been able to afford, let alone drive, the vintage Camaro he now owned without the help he received from his father.

Paul was a good father to Drake. He always had been. He was really an all-around good person. He took care of his family and his friends and complete strangers as best as he could. He did what he could which was just about anything since he was one of the leading scientists in his field.

Robotics had been tampered with early on in the twenty-first century. People had aspired to make them bigger, better, smarter, but they never got around to it. The once republican government became more of a dictatorship, and people lost interest in all things creative. Robots became a thing of the past.

At least, until Paul Irving came along. He had always had an interest in machines. There was just something about mechanics that made Paul giddy. He wanted to know how things worked; what made things tick. He found others like him who were interested in artificial intelligence. Thus, the first robot of the twenty-fourth century was born!

It was a dingy piece of scrap metal put roughly together and didn't operate quite right but, to Paul, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Except…

Drake's thoughts were interrupted by the bell as it tore through the silence and made him stand up straight. The kids from Spinelli's class all filed out of his room one by one. Drake observed each of their faces. Most of them were smiling, taking no notice of him, scurrying about trying to reach their next destination before the next bell. Some of them were obviously drained either physically or mentally. Drake had a hard time distinguishing the two.

Catelynne's face came next. She was just leaving when,

"Ms. Burges?" He heard Spinelli's voice question from inside the room.

She turned her head but didn't retreat back into the room. For this, Drake was thankful, but how long she could resist, he didn't know. "Sir?" she answered in question.

"Could you…come…here? For just a moment. Please?"

_Don't do it, Catelynne. _He urged. _You're a smart girl. You know it's a trap. You know what's inside…_

But before he could voice his pleas, she was back inside hell with the devil himself waiting to seal her doom. This would be it for Catelynne. The gentleman inside Drake wanted to kick the door in, give Spinelli what was coming to him, and whisk Catelynne away so she could live her life happily ever after with no regrets.

If he had to do things over again, he would have done just that. But at that moment, his mind had been elsewhere. He was thinking of someone else. His feet were already moving him past Spinelli's door, away from the dreaded exchange about to take place there.

He needed someone right then. He needed someone like he had never needed anyone before. And there she was. His salvation; his love. She took short, petite steps down the hall which were no comparison to his long, effortless strides. He smiled fondly at her. She managed a grin but then looked down at the floor.

She was so shy. He felt he sometimes made her nervous when he said the things he did or when he made a move closer to her. He tried to be less presumptuous in his ways but he was who he was and he was set in his ways. He moved in towards her.

"Hey," he said goofily. She was still looking at his shoes when she responded with an answering "Hey." He looked at her, puzzled, as she stepped to his unguarded side and pressed on. His long legs stretched back and he was once again in her path. She was forced to raise her head to see the tall figure in front of her, but she avoided his eyes at all cost.

"Hey," he repeated, "What's wrong? You forget something's due today?" He chuckled. It was just like Jhenna to forget an assignment.

"Er…no," she stammered still not looking at him fully.

"Come on," he said putting his arm around her and leading her in the opposite direction, "Let's talk." She struggled against him. He could have easily held her where she was. He was much too strong for her to have fought him. But he lifted his arm and let her free. They both stood there—Drake staring at Jhenna; Jhenna eluding Drake's gaze. She stepped forward again.

The game was getting old and Drake was tired of playing. He grabbed at her and caught her sleeve. Gently pulling her to the wall, he asked, "What's wrong, Baby?"

Her avoidance was becoming frustrating. "I can't do this now," she whispered looking up and down the halls nervously. She was worried people were observing them. They wouldn't be if she would just talk to him. He sighed exasperatedly.

He took her by the hand to make her feel less overwhelmed. She didn't fight him but her opposition was obvious. They stopped in front of a row of lockers. "Are you going to tell me what's bothering you? Or do I have to beat it out of you?" he smiled trying to sound playful but he didn't realize until afterward that he hadn't.

Jhenna looked up at him with her glazy eyes for the first time. She seemed distant as his question lingered in the air unanswered. "Jhenna! Hey! Yoo hoo?" He waved his hand in front of her face and snapped his fingers a few times. Her face crinkled as if she smelled something unpleasant.

"Irving!" a deep voice said from behind him. He turned away from Jhenna to take in a short (everyone was short to Drake), bulky dude with a stony face, a strong jaw, and a crop of stubble that he pulled off nicely growing on his chin. Rictor Whiles. He didn't play any sports, wasn't on any academic teams, and wasn't known for anything but his appearance. Boys wanted to be him. Girls just wanted him. Teachers wondered how he got all the attention he did when he didn't do _anything. _The whole school practically worshipped the ground he walked on. It disgusted Drake.

"What do you want, Whiles?" He looked down on him and it gave him some pleasure.

"I believe you're holding up my girl," he said without a smile on his face.

"Your girl? She's—" he started but was cut off.

"Come on, Jhenna," Whiles commanded. Jhenna pushed past Drake, her strength renewed by his majesty's arrival. Drake touched her shoulder lightly. She turned to face his bewildered stare.

"What…why…I don't understand,"

"Drake," she waved Whiles away, but he stayed nevertheless. She sighed, "We were never, you know, _together_." She pronounced each syllable as if to make him understand. "You…you took possession of me, so to speak, without even asking what I wanted in all this." Her eyes darted from the floor, to Drake, to Whiles, to the floor. "I was never 'yours.' And I'm dating Rictor now." She started to walk off with him.

"Wait!" he called. She stopped again. "Are…are you saying…it's over? Between us?"

She shook her head pitifully. "There never _was_ anything between us."

"I—" he began.

"Come on, Jhenna." They both turned, and Whiles put his arm around her like Drake had done not but a few moments ago. He glanced over his shoulder at Drake and smirked. As if he didn't already have his way, he leaned in and gave Jhenna a quick peck on her perfect face.

Everything was falling. It seemed to happen quickly. The ceiling caved in, the lockers fell over row by row, crushing him. He screamed but no one could hear him over their laughter. He struggled to pull himself together but the flames were relentlessly licking at his feet. He cried out and, in the midst of all the onlookers was, Jhenna, gaping in horror but doing nothing; just standing.

The bell rang and everything was back in order. Drake looked around him to make sure everything was still intact. The lockers were standing straight, the ceiling was still above his head, and everyone was in class. He was late. Physics. Jhenna. Jhenna had physics with him. He couldn't go there. He would be ripped apart piece by piece.

He stumbled through the hallway tripping over himself as he rushed to get to freedom. He had to be free. He had to get away from it. Whatever 'it' was. He felt as if he might die if he didn't get away and he felt like he might die if he did. Nothing was right. Everything _seemed_ fine: the lockers, the ceiling, the balance of life. But everything was disrupted. He wanted to scream!

He slammed into the double doors and ran until his legs couldn't carry him any further. In the distance, he heard the echo of the doors slamming loudly.

* * *

"Harris?"

"Here."

"Hiker?"

"Present."

"Irving?"

No answer.

"Irving, Drake." Mr. Perry's eyes scanned the room briefly before returning back to his roster. "Has anyone seen Drake Irving today?"

No answer.

"Is Mr. Irving present this afternoon?" His voice echoed through the room in the still, silence.

Jhenna Kirk slid further into her seat but didn't answer. She felt everyone's eyes on her and she forced herself not to appear guilty.

"He was here last period, Mr. Perry." Someone corrected from the other side of the room.

"Hm…" Mr. Perry didn't look at the answerer. He muttered something to himself, "Irving, Drake…tardy," and continued to call role, "Jaske?"

"Here."

"Kirk?"

"Here," Jhenna answered miserably.

* * *

"Mr. Slanders," Ms. Chastane called from behind her desk to the principal, "I just got off the phone with the police department." Mr. Slanders turned to face his secretary. "They've just informed me that a dangerous criminal is on campus." Her voice stayed astoundingly even.

Mr. Slanders raised his hand to his chin and stroked his neat little beard. "Issue a lockdown," He said without hesitation.

"Right away, sir."

The voice of the young secretary came across the private intercom of each classroom saying, "This is a lockdown. Principal Slanders has just issued a lockdown. Teachers, lock your doors at this time. There is no need to panic. This is not a drill. _This is a lockdown._"

* * *

Drake had never skipped class before. He felt dangerous. It was criminal yet exhilarating. The air smelled fresher; his heart felt somewhat lighter. He felt a twinge of guilt as he remembered all his hateful accusations towards Aeron earlier. If this was how she felt every time she skipped Spinelli's class, then he understood why she did. He also felt guilty for stooping down to Aeron's level. He was running away from his problems instead of facing them like the man he hoped he was. He didn't much feel like a man just then.

What would his father say when he found out? He wouldn't be angry with Drake. He would be disappointed; but never angry. Partly because his father feared he would lose his son if he became too stern with him. Drake knew that, and so did everyone else.

Paul Irving had dedicated his life to his work and his robots at a young age. Paul loved his work like he loved nothing else. He loved it because it was the only thing he had. His father had died when he was the young age of seven. He had hardly known his father. His mother had raised him and his brother alone. His mother died shortly after the two brothers were grown. Paul said it was because she was finally satisfied with the way the two brothers were raised and could rest.

Drake's late grandmother was always worried about her sons, his father had told him. She was the first to get up in the morning, and the last to go to sleep at night. Paul had told Drake once that he couldn't recall ever seeing his mother's eyes closed until the day he saw her lying in her casket.

His father's obsession with his work was understandable to Drake. He felt it was okay for him to obsess over something that was productive at least. And obsess he had. For five years he obsessed. Then he found something new to obsess over. His robot had been the most beautiful thing he had ever seen until…

The little car honked its horn and swerved just in time before it collided with Drake's body. He needed to get his car and get out of the road before his first adventure was cut short. He jogged to the student parking lot where his car was parked. His Camaro sat in its assigned place looking lonely amidst the other less expensive cars.

Drake pressed the unlock button on his key chain. The car didn't give its usual flicker of lights it gave when it had just been unlocked. Puzzled, Drake stepped up to the driver side and clicked the button again. Nothing. He cautiously reached for the door handle and pulled it releasing the latch and sending the door up in a circular motion. Frantically he checked the back seats, the glove compartment, and the trunk to make sure nothing had been stolen.

He was sure he had locked the car this morning. Everyone locked their car, of course, but Drake was especially careful with his car since its value was so high now-a-days. Anyone would want to get their hands on his car.

Nothing had turned up missing and everything was still intact. Why would someone break into his car if they wanted nothing from it? Why wouldn't they make off with the car? Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he hadn't locked the car this morning. He had had a lot on his mind. He could have forgotten. No. He was positive he'd locked it.

Scanning the parking lot, he leaned against the hood, not completely satisfied. Someone, or something, moved off in the distance. It was running looking back every so often to check behind him, making sure Drake hadn't seen him. But he had seen him. The man hadn't done anything to his car and yet Drake felt violated. "Hey!" he shouted, "Come back here!" He sprinted towards the running man but he was already too far away. Drake knew this but he kept running.

What Drake didn't know was that the man had an accomplice. Another man, a strong man, tackled him from behind. His face came into contact with the blacktop as the man held him there. He said something but his voice was too deep and too raspy for Drake to understand. He knew it was a threat of some kind.

The man hadn't grabbed for Drake's hands. He pushed himself up and rolled the man off of him. Sure the man was on the ground lying in the same position Drake had been in not seconds ago, he stood up over him. Much to his surprise, the man was standing, and he wasn't a man, but a boy. He was about Drake's age. His face was rough and scarred, drenched in sweat. His hair was unruly and matted. His clothes were striped orange and white; ripped and torn.

He stood as tall as Drake's shoulders and looked him straight in the eye as if he felt no fear. They both stared at each other in wonder until cries and sirens were heard in the distance. With the new sounds approaching the two, the boy ran in the direction of the other man whom Drake had seen earlier.

There was nothing he could do but watch as the boy disappeared in the crowd of people on the busy streets. Eventually, the sirens grew louder and the cars sped past the school and Drake in the parking lot. Despite the excitement of these recent events, Drake climbed into his car, commanded it to start, and drove away without a sense of purpose.

Where was he supposed to go when he skipped school? What was he supposed to do? He wondered what Aeron did when she skipped. If he could find her, he might have more direction. Maybe their friends knew where she was. Or maybe she was with her friends.

Drake wheeled the car out of the parking lot and towards their usual hang-out place, Ernie's Place—the bar downtown. Most of the group was too young to gain access but Ernie didn't mind their presence so much. And when the cops were around, he made them stay outside where they would wait until they left and Ernie waved them back in.

Drake didn't drink. At least not regularly. He had had beer before but—whether moved by guilt or by the taste of the liquid—couldn't find it in him to drink like his friends did. His father drank on occasion but not every night and only to relieve himself of the pressures and stress of the everyday life. Of course, Drake had tasted alcohol. What kid hadn't on this New Earth at some point in their life? But, to be honest, he was afraid to drink too much. He didn't want to lose himself to something like that. So he watched as his friends lost themselves more and more with every game and chug. How selfish he was.

He shook his head violently trying to forget the thoughts had ever crossed his mind. He didn't want to think of such things.

Ernie's was just around the corner. And there was the usual group standing idle in the alley beside the bar. The five of them didn't seem to go together. They were all misfits—people society wouldn't accept. None of them had anything else in common with one another other than their own shunning stories and yet, somehow, they all fit together in some way, like pieces of a puzzle—a really messed up puzzle.

Drake pulled into an empty parking space. Disturbed by the presence of the only running car on the block, the group turned and stared at Drake as he emerged from the car and strutted toward them. He smiled and waved. Coralie gave him a little nod and a semblance of a smile touched her face. The other's made no attempt to welcome him.

"Hey guys," he said cheerfully, "What's everyone doing?"

"What's your deal, Irving? What'd you do? Get a free day when you achieved the highest average at Ickes?" Piav asked showing his lack of knowledge. Piav was sort of the leader of the bunch. He dropped out of school when he was in the seventh grade after his father was imprisoned for reasons unknown to Drake.

"Um…no, Piav, that's when the person who does the most bad stuff gets expelled," Drake retorted attempting to be funny and condescending at the same time. He figured when no one laughed that he wasn't doing a very good job. Piav scowled at him.

"Come on, guys. Let's go get some drinks," he said. Drake knew he wasn't invited.

"I'm gonna stay here and watch my car."

No one answered him.

Coralie lingered behind pulling her hair into place. "You aren't going with them?" he asked attentively.

"I don't require intoxications to be happy," she stated firmly.

"You aren't going anyway? You know, to be with _him_?" he couldn't help the unpleasant distaste he felt towards Piav.

"I'm not his, Drake. I never was, and I shall never be." Coralie was the only person in the group who accepted Drake with little hesitation if any. She was different from the others, as if they all weren't different from each other in some way. She was poetic and mysterious. It was not the dark mystery that Saar carried, but the bright, vibrant sort that brought about questions and wondering. She spoke in the way of old; separating hers from the run of the mill conversations the group carried everyday.

"I just thought…" What did he think? It didn't matter. "Do you know where Aeron is?" He asked the question he had come to find the answer to.

"She didn't stay at school today? I was told she was 'working on things.'" Had Aeron said that or had someone else merely delivered the message?

"No, she left shortly before I did." Drake relayed.

"Did you leave to confront her?" She smiled. "You never cut class, Drake. It must have been rather important." Her smile faded thinking of the seriousness of the possible situation.

He hesitated. His personal life was his business. It was meant to be kept to himself; hence, 'personal.' "It…it was important to me…but not anything to bother you with." He thought for a moment. "I didn't skip to be with Aeron, if that's what you mean."

"I see." They were silent for the rest of the time until Piav and the others returned; bottles in hand. They were all so silent even when enjoying themselves. All except for Mimi who was always very excited about everything. Unlike Saar, her twin brother, who was very gothic and secretive, Mimi was cheerful and shared everything she knew.

Now, she was slinging her bottle around spilling most of its contents. She yelled what she was saying. Drake didn't know if her yelling was caused by the alcohol or if she would have been yelling anyway. Gethin was very displeased with her behavior.

Gethin was tall, almost as tall as Drake, with long dreadlocks and a black face. He didn't say much but when he did, his voice seemed to shake the ground. It was deep and full of power. Strength radiated from his body. He hated the group. He hated their conversations and his unwillingness to leave. He had somehow become one of them without knowing it. The little group was the closest thing he had to friends. More than the group, he hated Drake. Drake wasn't one of them. To Gethin, he was the rich, momma's boy crying out for attention. Gethin hated posers and to him, Drake was a poser. The boy was walking beside Mimi who was screaming loudly about something he could care less about.

Saar, also mostly silent, was short and pale. His deep blue eyes saved him from utter unattractiveness. He wore a scowl that melted even Gethin's icy heart. Saar didn't have to be big and strong to scare you. He was like the face of death, swiftly moving from victim to victim without grievance for his deeds. He tolerated his sister's need for attention like he tolerated Drake's unwanted presence. He scowled straight ahead as they approached Drake and Coralie.

Despite their obvious hate for him, Drake stayed with the group. He considered them _his_ friends. He respected them in a way. He feared them with some sort of reverence.

"Hey, you guys," Coralie started on Drake's behalf, "Did Aeron tell any of you where she would be headed today?"

Everyone looked confused for about half a second. Piav shook his head. "Thought she was turning herself around?"

"Yeah, same here," Mimi answered. "She said she wouldn't be hanging out here anymore." Drake didn't understand. Aeron wasn't coming back to Ernie's? What was she planning?

"Thanks, guys," Drake said.

"Irving?" Saar asked quietly. "Why do you want to know?"

Drake didn't answer.

"You got no chance with her, Irving." Piav snickered.

"Yeah, isn't she going with that guy, Felon or something?" Saar asked. Drake's heart sank a little.

"Yeah. Yeah, right," Piav replied. "You got no chance with her," he repeated. "I've seen this Felon guy. You've got nothing on him."

"I'm not looking for her to ask her out. I just need to find her." He attempted to keep his voice even.

"Right. Sure," Mimi giggled.

This was becoming bothersome. He couldn't make them understand that he didn't like Aeron like that. He only liked Jhenna and she had done everything but rip his heard out. The others were snickering and mocking him. He couldn't tell why this was bothering him so badly. It was nothing different from what they had done to him in the past. It was like world history class all over again.

His head was pounding. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and almost immediately found his hearing had inhanced. Their painful words fell so much harder on his already weighted heart. Even Saar and Gethin were laughing at him. He couldn't take this anymore. He had to leave like he had to leave history today. He couldn't wait around.

He stomped off away from the group. He didn't want to drive away. He couldn't give them the satisfaction. He ran through the alley between Ernie's bar and its neighboring building, keeping his eyes shut.

The little group—excluding Coralie, as far as he could tell—was still laughing when the shot rang out. Drake didn't know if his hearing would have been damaged any further if he had been any closer to the group, but for now, he could only hear a ringing, and he knew from shooting guns with his dad that that would go away after a few minutes. The shots had scared him enough to keep him from turning back around. He was afraid to even glance behind him. It was clear that his life was in danger.

He kept running and the shots kept coming. Whoever was shooting was leaving though. He dove behind a dumpster to be sure he had some cover against the shells if the shooters decided to aim at him. There was distant screaming far away and cries could be heard throughout the streets. Sure the shooters were gone, Drake crept from his hiding spot to find, to his horror, that the space his friends had occupied not five minutes ago was empty save the five limp corpses.

His stomach flopped on top of itself. He couldn't feel his feet as they moved closer to the still place. There had been plenty of time for the ringing in his ears to subside, but as he walked towards the lifeless bodies of his friends, the ringing grew stronger, the pounding louder.

He leaned over Coralie first feeling she deserved the most respect. His heart thudded in his throat. The wound was located right at her chest. She hadn't suffered much. She should have been killed instantly. That eased Drake's mind a little, but not much. The others were shot at least twice. Mimi had been shot four times: once in the leg, twice in the chest, and there was a clean, precise shot to her head.

The last he visited was Piav. He wouldn't spend much time here since he cared nothing for the boy. He leaned over him to examine his wounds. He was shot in the leg just above his knee cap and once in the shoulder. He might have fallen and hit his head on the sidewalk, knocking him out for the moment. The wounds weren't fatal. At worst, he would bleed out as he lay unconsciously on the sidewalk. Drake leaned in closer to his face and heard raspy breathing. His pulse was beating faintly, but there was a beat.

He stepped back to take in the scene fully. The whole measure of it was a grisly sight. It was all he could do to hold himself in place. Surveying it like he was, it was hard to imagine the five of his…dead (the word was hard to say)…friends had ever been held so highly in his mind. All but Coralie had scorned him in some way, form, or fashion. It seemed only fair that he should dominate over all of them in the end.

But what was to be done about Piav?

It was clear that there was a dilemma here he had to face. He wanted to leave the boy to die on the street, but the heart in him wouldn't let him. Piav had mocked him, belittled him, and ridiculed him more than any other person Drake could think of. This would be the perfect opportunity to take his revenge. Piav would suffer more than the others, and that alone would soothe Drake's aching heart.

The body stirred.

Startled, Drake jumped away from the boy he had presumed unconscious. If he was going to take his revenge, he would have to leave just then. He didn't even have time to decide whether Piav was worth the nerve it would take to walk away and the guilt that would haunt him forever afterward.

The boy groaned.

Drake's stomach knotted as he turned and began to sprint away. Sweat formed on his brow. A hoarse cry came from behind him. He winced but kept his pace. The cry was clearer the second time it rang out. "Drake!" Piav had never called him by his first name. People rarely did. Piav must have been in real pain. Of course he was! How could Drake, a normally good, kind-hearted person, leave a fellow being behind to waste away?

He stopped abruptly and turned around. He kept telling himself over and over again, _I can't do this. I can't do this. I shouldn't be doing this. But I have to do this._

He sat down beside the boy who was bleeding worse now after he had moved so suddenly. "Lie still," Drake instructed, his voice quivering. He took off his jacket and pressed it on the wound. Piav let out a loud scream. The pressure applied caused the boy little pain compared to the hurt Drake was suppressing in order to keep his dying friend calm.

"I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die," Piav repeated over and over.

Drake couldn't think of an answer. He couldn't tell him that he _wouldn't _die. He was afraid he wouldn't be able to keep that promise. "I have to get help," he said more to himself than to Piav. The smart thing to do would be to run in Ernie's Bar and phone the police. But then Drake would be the only witness. Images of courtrooms and judges and lawyers ran through his head as he considered the drama that could come from involving the police. Almost as quickly as the thought of contacting the police had entered his head, it vanished as he declined it.

Phoning the hospital was still an option, but everyone would ask questions. The doctors and nurses, of course, would want to know why and how the boy had been injured. If Drake confessed the events, he would be stuck with the police problem again. The only other person he could involve would be his own father.

Paul Irving had to know enough about the human body to be able to construct his robots. He could patch Piav up if Drake was willing to invite the boy into his home. He would be showing him kindness that he didn't deserve; he would be letting him into his life like no other person prior to this moment had ever had a chance to experience.

He had to come to the crossroads where he was going to make his decision eventually. The longer he put it off, the sooner Piav would die and his decision, whatever it was, would be made in vain.

He sighed undecidedly. "Stay here." He stood and began walking to his car.

"Where am I gonna go, Irving?" Piav snapped despite the obvious pain he was in. Drake was a little disappointed to hear that Piav had gone back to referring to him by his last name again. He had been under the impression that the situation, though tragic, might make the two closer friends. He could see now that that was a hopeless cause.

Drake stepped into his car. "Wait!" Piav yelled, "Where are you going?"

"To get help," he answered without stopping or looking up.

"Why can't I come with you?"

Now he stopped. This was a question that hadn't occurred to him. Sure, he _could've _brought Piav to his home where he could certainly be treated more accurately. It was the wiser decision to make. But his pride kept him from helping the boy to his car where he would most likely bleed all over his leather interior. Thinking back on that last statement, he would tear himself up inside. But at the current moment, he remained cool and thought nothing of his selfish concerns.

"Drake!" he cried, "You can't leave me here…_alone._" It was apparent to Drake that Piav was afraid to be left alone with the corpses. It was only typical. If Drake had been put in the same situation, who knows how he would handle himself. Even now, he was struggling to keep calm.

Despite everything Piav had done to him, Drake found it quite impossible to take his revenge on him at such a helpless time in his life. If he had been well and happy, revenge would certainly be the answer. But the fact that he was dying made hurting the boy even harder than it would have been already.

He got out of the car and opened the back door. Piav would have to lie down in the backseat since it was too painful for him to sit up for more than a few seconds. Lifting him by himself was a challenge. It took all the strength he possessed, and even then, it wasn't enough. He had to muster up an extra ten pounds of muscle to carry the Piav the last two feet.

When that was taken care of, Piav moaned, "Where are we going?

"I'm going to get my father."

"Is he a doctor?"

"No. He's a scientist."

With that, Drake spoke the Camaro to life and drove away in the direction of his home. It wasn't far from here. With any luck, he could get to his house and obtain his father's attention before the schools let out for the day. Paul wouldn't be at the lab today. He had taken off work to take one of his well-deserved sick days upon the urgings of his wife and several fellow scientists at the lab.

Paul was never sick and, therefore, never used any of his sick days. He worked himself hard and expected so much progress from himself and his machines. It sometimes drove Denise mad that her new husband would not take time away from work to focus on other things like his health which was beginning to fade with age and fatigue. She knew he deserved better. So did Drake. So did everyone.

Drake was so lost in thoughts of his father, for a moment, that he had stopped paying so much attention to Piav's groaning and the road. He was quickly awakened by high-pitched voices screaming and squealing tires on asphalt involuntarily braking to a stop. He found himself gripping the steering wheel and staring—eyeball to eyeball—with a small, pale, elementary school girl. Her hands were lightly touching the hood of his car until she removed them to examine the shaking of her entire body.

Her teacher, he assumed, rushed toward her and scooped her up in her arms. Drake felt completely unnerved, as if the previous events of his day hadn't done an efficient enough job of unnerving him already. He pulled his own shaking hands away from the wheel and began to open the door of his car.

The teacher held out a shaky hand of her own in protest. She backed across the street with the girl in her arms. Drake still stepped out his car, though he didn't cross the street in attempts to explain himself. He really didn't have time to spare. He felt…_violated_? Was that the word? Did that really fit? How could you feel _violated_ after a simple encounter with a strange little girl who you had almost run over? _Violated._

"Piav!" The thought occurred to him to ask Piav if he felt _violated_ too, but he thought soon after that that he might get confused. He decided to go with a less awkward approach. "How do you feel?"

There was no answer and for a moment, Drake feared that his wound had been more serious than he had previously assumed. "I just got shot in the knee, Irving! How do you _think_ I feel?"

"Right." He went back to driving. He was the only one who felt _violated_. His house was just around the corner in the village. He had never taken a friend home to his house or family. Mainly because he didn't have any _real_ friends. Even Piav here wasn't exactly coming by his own will.

His house was nothing short of a mansion. It was set upon a large knoll that overlooked similar, but smaller mansions. It even had its own toll booth at the beginning of the long winding driveway which Drake was pulled up to now. Of course, the officer who was working the booth would know Drake and let him go in without question any other day. The groaning boy in the backseat, however, brought about questions. Drake quickly explained the situation: the two boys had been hunting in another town and Piav had accidently shot himself in the knee. Far fetched as the story was, the officer let them go up the driveway.

"Stay here," Drake repeated when he had pulled into the garage. Thankfully, Piav was in too much pain to respond with another sarcastic retort. He would have brought the boy in with him but he feared his strength was all gone from the last time he had lifted him. His dad was stronger and could help him into the house.

He charged through the door and began calling for someone to help him. His voice was weaker than he had anticipated and kept braking in his desperate cries. No one answered. He would have searched the house but there was no telling which of the many rooms his father would be in and there wasn't enough time to scan each of them.

He went to the kitchen where Gerard, the robot butler, was preparing their dinner. He looked up from his work briefly to acknowledge Drake's presence. "Hello, Master Drake," he said with emotion flooding through each word. He had to give his father credit. Paul made a great robot. Gerard was the best robot Paul had developed so far. Of course, there were more like him but they were so expensive that only the extremely rich could afford them. Paul was working on a plan to introduce robots to all families.

"Hey, Gerard. Is my father home?" Drake had been introduced to Gerard seven years ago. Drake was ten and Gerard was a brand new machine. Drake was given the job of teaching Gerard. The machine was so intelligent that it learned from humans. Paul had already found out how robots worked learning from adults. Now he wanted to try a new experiment: how a robot would develop with a ten year old boy for a teacher. The goal was to see if a robot could literally age with time. And the experiment was successful. Gerard was perhaps Drake's best friend.

"I'm afraid not, Master Drake. He was called away on urgent business at the lab. He left a message for you." Gerard raised a metal hand and pressed one of the silver buttons on his wrist. A message prerecorded by his father began to play.

"Drake. I know. I know. This was supposed to be a sick day. But Doctor Rivers called and told me that our newest project has just had a stunning breakthrough! I'll tell you all about it tonight." Drake heard Paul let out an excited "whoop" on the message before it ended. A knot formed in his stomach and he stumbled forward.

What was he going to do about Piav now? The only thing left to do was take him to the hospital. It was really the smartest thing to do. It would have been much smarter than taking the injured boy to his home and waiting on his father, the scientist who might or might not be able to patch Piav up, and prolonging his pain.

It suddenly occurred to Drake that, without thinking about it, he had been planning this all along! No, he couldn't have been. That was just sick. Drake wasn't sick. He wasn't like that and he knew it but yet, he couldn't convince himself that Piav's current situation wasn't his fault. He had to clear his conscience. He had to get Piav to the hospital no matter what it would cost him.

Forgetting to tell Gerard thank you and goodbye, he left the kitchen and ran to the garage. His Camaro was still sitting where he had left it, but Piav who had been in the backseat only a few minutes ago, was no where to be found. The blood from the boy's leg was still on the seat and the floor, but the boy and his leg were gone. The garage had been shut before Drake had gone into the house and here it was, still shut. There had been no reason to lock the car. After all, it had been parked safely in the garage. Or at least he thought it had been.

At first, he thought Piav might have pulled himself into the house. But there would have had to be a trail of blood left behind. He was bleeding badly and if he tried to exert anything extra on it, it would cause it to bleed more and would certainly leave a trail. Piav's disappearance truly baffled Drake. How could he just be…gone?

He had to get out of the house. There was a feeling of eeriness that was beginning to make his skin crawl. Maybe it was because Piav had seemed to disappear through then air.

He backed out of the driveway carefully. The officer who had been working the toll booth was now gone. A sign hung in the window that read, "At Lunch. Be Back Soon." This reminded Drake that he was hungry. He hadn't eaten lunch today simply because nothing had been appealing to him. There was a café not far from the village. It was also near Ernie's Bar where the ordeal had taken place. Though he didn't want to, he felt obliged to make sure the situation had been cleared up.

The café was called _La Petit Goût de Paradis_. Drake knew from the little French he had learned three years ago in French I as a freshman that the name translated as "A Little Taste of Heaven." The croissants there weren't bad, but calling it a piece of heaven was a bit of an exaggeration.

There were certainly better cafés than _La Petit Goût de Paradis._ But that little piece of heaven was unique. Unlike most of the cafés, restaurants, and businesses in the area, _Goût de Paradis_ hadn't been overrun and taken over by machines.

Drake wasn't ashamed of his father's work. He admired it and was proud of everything he had accomplished. The idea of robots didn't bother him since he had been raised with them. It was just, the atmosphere in a place that you could walk into and be greeted by _humans_ was…friendlier.

He rounded a corner slowly. The next block would reveal the state of his departed friends. Someone surely must have seen them. There would be police tape and road blocks and officers with their cars and blinking lights. None of that would scare off pedestrians. They would want to know firsthand what the whole ordeal was about. When the story was shown on all the major news channels the next day, they could say they were there. They would flock to the scene and stand just outside the boundary line, unafraid of the officers and their attempts to shoo them.

He peered down the ally where his late comrades had fallen. The scene he had seen in his mind did not exist in reality. Nothing he had thought would be there was there. What shocked him the most was that, not only had someone found the bodies, but they had acted so quickly upon finding them that they were able to clean the whole mess up in less than an hour and a half!

He pulled the car to a halt. Open mouthed, he stepped out and stared at the sidewalk. Not a trace of blood remained. This was impossible! He had watched enough criminal investigation TV shows and mystery movies to know that cleaning up a crime scene could take days. Miracles could not be worked overnight and definitely not in only a few hours. That was another problem. Drake hadn't even been away for a few hours. It had taken approximately an hour and a half!

He was utterly dumbfounded.

The café was just another street up. He didn't feel like driving. He needed to walk this off. Of course, it didn't take him long to get away from the crime scene, whether it had existed to anyone else or not. He wondered if anyone had seen anything besides him. Didn't someone else hear the gun shots? Ernie would have heard it. Hell, he would've fired back at the sons of guns if he got the chance!

Maybe he was delusional. Even Gerard would have known something was wrong when Drake had come home from school early. And yet, he hadn't even inquired. What if nothing had ever happened here? What if the whole shooting, taking Piav to his house, almost hitting a little girl had never happened? He could have dreamed the whole thing up just sitting here. Aeron's friends might not have even been at Ernie's today!

Aeron. It was the first time thoughts of her had come up in a while. And this had all started because of her. His head was beginning to hurt.

The café was in front of him now. Was it cold out? Or was it just him? He walked in. The whole place was full. There wasn't a table left empty. He sighed and walked up to the counter. A thought struck him.

He waved a young employee over to him and pulled him aside. The kid was just a little older than him it seemed. "Hey. Hey, I'm Drake."

The boy didn't seem to care. "Is there something I can help you with, Sir?"

"Yes. Yes, there is actually. Can you tell me when you started your shift today?

"I don't see how that's—"

"Your right. Your right. But I was wondering if you had noticed anything…out of the ordinary around this part of town."

"Sir, is there a problem that you want to tell me about?" The boy asked oblivious to the urgency of the situation.

He sighed again. "Look, all I need to know is if there is someone I can speak to who had been here most of the day." He thought. "Or, at least for a few hours."

"I shouldn't say anything…" The boy looked around. "You see that guy there?" He pointed to a man dressed practically head to two in black who was staring off into the distance. "He's been here for a while and he comes here a lot. If there's something you wanna know, he can tell you."

"Thanks, Man. You have no idea." He patted the boy on the shoulder and began to walk off.

"Hey, wait." Drake stopped and turned. "If anyone—and I mean _anyone_—asks, you never saw me."

"Sure thing. But, could I get a latte?"

After the boy gave him his coffee, Drake set off in the black-clad man's direction. He hadn't noticed the wet floor and slipped forward into a strong looking man. The hot coffee spilled on Drake and the man. The man gave him an angry look and pulled back as if to take a blow at him. Drake was quick on his feet though, and ducked as the punch passed over his head harmlessly. As he stood, the man tried to execute a returning blow and Drake was forced back another two or three paces—back into the wet floor—where he slipped again and fell backward. With nothing to catch him, he thudded on the ground.

He was a little dizzy when he sat up but he didn't think he had been injured. No one was looking at him. They were following the angry man shouting insults and being escorted out the café by two muscular managers.

He scanned the tables for the black-clad man. He didn't see him, at first, and was worried he had run out with the others to see the outcome of the angry man. He hadn't seen him because the man had been standing over him the whole time. He reached down and offered a hand to Drake. Drake gladly accepted it and pulled himself up.

The man nodded and went back to his table. Drake followed him and sat on the opposite end. The man hadn't expected to see that Drake had come with him. He asked confusedly, "Something I can do for you?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, there's something." Drake was intimidated all of a sudden. The man had an air about him that made him seem powerful. He seemed in control. "You haven't seen or heard anything strange around here lately, have you?"

"Oh, you mean besides the uproar you just caused here?" He spoke in a deep, raspy voice.

Drake laughed, "No, I mean seriously. Something very, very important." The man looked at him strangely. "Something occurred here about two hours ago…" The mention of time made the man look at his watch.

"Could we hurry this up? I have somewhere I have to be," the man interrupted.

"Ha! No, you're just saying that 'cause you find this conversation annoying and pointless!" The man stood up. "No! Don't you leave me!" Drake stood and shouted, "You sit down right now! I'm telling you, this is important! Don't mess with me 'cause I've had a freakin' bad day!"

The man sat and anyone still sitting in the café stared at the two of them. The man looked at him with the most flabbergasted look anyone had ever given Drake. And Drake would be the first to tell you, he had gotten a lot of flabbergasted looks over the years.

He breathed heavily. "Look, Man, I apologize. You just…you don't understand. Right now, you're the closest thing I've got to a friend and if you'll just hear me out."

The man remained silent.

Drake continued his story, "Something big happened just down the street today. It was about two hours ago. Were you or were you not here two hours ago?"

"Kid, I don't know what you're on, but whatever it is, I don't sell it." He rose again.

"Wait!" The man stopped again but didn't sit back down. "I don't want drugs. I just need to know if you heard or saw five people die today." The man sat down again.

"I'm listening."

"I witnessed five of my friends get shot out of no where today. They died. Right in front of me. One of them wasn't dead yet and I was going to take him home to my father. Stupid, I know. But I was under pressure. When I went into the house and came back out to get him, he was gone. He just disappeared. Now, I've come back here and the four kids who were dead are gone. I don't know if I'm losing it and that's why I wanted to know if you had heard anything about it today."

The man was shaking his head. "I already told you, Kid, if you want some drugs, go get them somewhere else."

This time it was Drake who stood. The man wasn't going to be any help. He stumbled out the door and into the bright sunshine. It was clear to Drake now that he had either imagined the whole ordeal or Aeron was right and the whole thing was just a big conspiracy.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

May 5, 2309—4:59a.m.

**THE WORLD—PLANET** Earth—has just recovered from the longest, hardest depression known to Earth's grandchildren as the Second Dark Ages.

A scream rang through the house. It wasn't an ordinary scream. It was innocent and pure like only a child's scream could be. There was a mixture of emotions in the scream: sadness and fear mostly, but also confusion and concern. The noises that followed the scream were hurried footsteps along the hall, a deep, guttural man's shouting, a door squeaking open, and the lights flicking on as the two runners charged in the room where the screaming girl laid.

There were more harsh, incoherent words from the man before he left. And he did leave. Without even saying an intelligible thing to the fearful child.

But the tall girl stayed. She stayed with her all night—or what was left of the night anyway. She sat on her bed and pulled the child close to her. She didn't say anything for a little while; just let the girl cling to her. The child held tight to the bigger girls sleep shirt and buried her face in her chest. She wept until she had no more tears (which had seemed like an eternity of weeping, but was really only a little ten minutes).

The flow had not stopped easily. There was so much to cry for. But when she finally got a hold of her self and gulped down the last of her fear, the older girl spoke. "Quetzy? What's wrong, Hon? Did you have a nightmare?" She pushed her away slightly to examine her face with concerned eyes.

She choked back another batch of tears and cried, "Yes."

Aeron nodded and pulled her back against her. But Quetzy was done crying. She had no need for more consoling. She wanted to tell Aeron to go back to bed. But she wouldn't have even if she had told her. Aeron was convinced that Quetzy needed constant protecting. If only Quetzy could have gone back time to quiet her own screaming. If only Aeron could be somewhat like Nathan and go back to sleep; leave her with her thoughts.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked. Quetzy felt like she was in a psychiatrist's presence rather than her sister's. Aeron was always looking for a reason to pat Quetzy on the back or a reason to hold her and make her feel better. When would she learn that Quetzy wasn't such a little girl anymore?

"No, I'm okay." That was to say the least. She was great actually. This dream—it had awakened her a bit. She just wished she could dwell on it. She wished she could remember it all. There was so much to take in.

"Are you sure? You seemed…really scared," she was studying her closely.

"Yes, yes. I'm okay," she repeated.

"Do you want me to stay here with you?"

What could she say? Of course she didn't! But she couldn't exactly tell her to go away. Fortunately, she didn't have to. Another wave of tears flooded her. They weren't the same tears they were before though. They were more like tears of relief. This dream had answered so many questions. She understood now.

Of course, Aeron didn't know that. All she saw was a scared child sitting in her pj's, frightened by a bad dream. She tried to hug her again, but Quetzy slunk back into the bed sheets and on her pillow. Aeron just took it as fatigue and left her there. She sat on the end of the bed for a little while before her alarm went off in her bedroom. She glanced at the girl again, then crept off to begin her morning routine. She presumed she was asleep.

But she wasn't.

She had been thinking while Aeron had sat there. And now she could think even harder. She could stand and pace the room if she wished. So long as the door was shut, that was. But she didn't wish to stand and pace. She was content to sit in her bed, lying in a sleeping position with her eyes shut, and just think.

She thought hard. _Real_ hard.

She tried to conjure up parts of the dream. She tried to remember. But she had lost some of it. Why had she screamed? If only she hadn't been so afraid. She wouldn't have forgotten the dream so fast if she hadn't screamed. It was only a few parts though. She hoped they hadn't been very important parts.

_Let's see,_ she thought, _There had been a gate. It was huge! And it surrounded something—something huge! I was there. And Aeron. And monsters—lot's of monsters. But some of them were nice. They helped us. Because we were lost and we didn't know where we were going and we were in the woods. But they helped us. But the other ones wanted to eat us!_ She started to cry again, but only faintly. _There was a fight. It was little. It was two boys. But they weren't boys! They were monsters! They were monsters in disguise. And…_

Aeron tapped on the door and came in. "Quetzy, it's time to get up and get ready for school." She smiled. "You have to get ready." Her hair was still damp from the shower but her makeup was fixed. It was Quetzy's turn to use the bathroom to get ready.

"What time is it?" she asked weakly.

"6:30," she answered.

How had she managed to lay there for almost an hour and get nothing accomplished? She knew partly what her dream had meant, but not fully. There was more—much more. She wanted to remember. But she didn't have time. And she didn't have time to argue with Aeron, to tell her that she didn't want to go to school today.

Aeron was leaving the room. Quetzy walked to the bathroom groggily and stared at her face in the mirror. There wasn't much to stare at. Besides sleep buggers, she couldn't see any blemishes. Of course she couldn't! She hadn't quite reached adolescence yet. She was still too young to wear makeup and fix her hair. Not that there was much to fix. She didn't have problems with her hair yet. In fact, she was fine with the way she looked. Most eight years olds were.

She felt gross, though. She splashed her face with cold water and shivered at it met her skin. She felt a little better. She took a washcloth and wetted it. She ran it over her skin, trying to cleanse herself of the sleep sweat she had accumulated during the night. Then she dressed and brushed through the tangles in her hair.

The kitchen was most likely cleaned out and picked through, so she didn't even go there. She could eat breakfast at school if Aeron got her there in time. She usually did. Aeron was good at being on time to school; she just wasn't so great at staying in school. That usually made Quetzy one of the last kids to be picked up.

She found her backpack sitting in a corner of her room, right where she left it. There wasn't much in her room. She didn't care much for toys and dolls. She liked to draw; not to color. She was good at it too. Her art teacher always commented and praised her drawings. She said, "You have an artist eye, Dear." She also said that Quetzy was good with details and that she drew things people usually didn't think of as interesting. She said that she drew ordinary, everyday objects and made them something important. She said that that was called…that was called…pop art.

But Quetzy didn't just draw soda cans and street signs. She liked to draw the world as she saw it. She had showed one of these drawings to her teacher once, expecting praise and admiration, and received a look of fear and disbelief. That was followed by a note sent to Nathan telling him to meet with Mrs. Armstrong. He hadn't met with her.

Aeron had.

Mrs. Armstrong hadn't liked meeting with a sixteen year old. (Aeron had been sixteen at the time.) But Mrs. Armstrong hadn't had much of a choice. Nathan had refused to talk to her over something he said was "stupid" and "not worth my time."

Aeron had been shocked too.

She hadn't expected to see how dark her kid sister's mind was. Not that it was hard to see what was going on with the world. But still…no seven year old should have known what the real world was like. And they certainly shouldn't have been able to understand it with such…such…vividness.

They had talked about letting her see a shrink. But Aeron had been leery. She didn't want Quetzy to feel like she had done something wrong or that there was something wrong with her. They had decided against that. Instead, they let her talk to the school counselor. That hadn't lasted long. He said that he saw nothing wrong with her. Mainly because she didn't want to talk to him. So she wouldn't. He couldn't get anything out of her.

He gave up.

Quetzy hadn't minded though. She went back to drawing pictures of oceans and sunsets. Ever since then, Aeron hadn't stopped worrying. Every silent car ride, every unspoken notion about the world, and every drawing of a happy, smiling family of stick figures, complete with a daddy, mommy, brother, sister, dog, and big smiling house behind them, Aeron worried for her sister.

Quetzy was too intelligent. She was just too young for her mind. If the girl had been an aged and experienced scholar, her thoughts would have been bizarre. At least, in this world where everything was supposed to be thought out for you.

With her backpack behind her, she sat on the couch waiting for Aeron to finish her touchups. She hated the way Aeron dressed. Aeron wasn't like that. She was one of those sweet, preppy girls at heart. But she had to prove otherwise. She just wasn't satisfied with being regular. And Quetzy understood part of that. But why, oh why, did she have to be so eccentric? Maybe it was just beyond a child's mind. The thing was, Quetzy didn't have a child's mind.

She pushed up her sleeve and held her little princess watch to her face. It read, 7:15. Aeron was right on time.

"Are you ready?" She asked her, stepping out of the bedroom. Quetzy nodded. "Okay, then," she smiled, "Let's go."

Nathan was snoring in his bedroom, sleeping off all his late night partying. She pulled on her little windbreaker over her backpack, like some children did, and followed Aeron out the door. She kept walking to her sister's car even though Aeron had stopped to lock the door behind them.

She really didn't want to go to school today. There were so many reasons. She sighed as Aeron unlocked the door and stepped in. Quetzy followed almost robotically. She wished she could drive. She would skip school too. She would skip school just like Aeron. With Aeron. She would skip school _with_ Aeron.

It seemed like such a short drive to the Elementary school. If she had wanted to come to school today, the ride would have been as slow as Christmas.

It was raining. There was a teacher standing outside with a long white raincoat hanging over her and a newspaper held over her head even though she was standing under the pavilion. She was waving kids in, helping some out of the cars, and trying to keep dry. Quetzy pushed the passenger side door open and stepped out. She pulled the hood of her windbreaker up over her head and turned.

Aeron told her to have a good day. Quetzy nodded and then she shut the door. She stood there for a second, watching Aeron's little red car drive off to her own school where she would not remain. The teacher in the white raincoat was trying to get some whiny boy out of the car and into the building. He was crying and screaming that he didn't want to go; that he was sick. His mother was telling him that he still had to go to school, and the teacher in the white raincoat was trying to coax him out of the car.

The hood of Quetzy's windbreaker had blown off in the wind. The rain was drenching her hair and was cool on her face. Aeron's car was long gone, but Quetzy was still standing at the curb, staring off in the direction in which the car had gone. She closed her eyes for a second. There was something hiding behind her eyelids that she just couldn't see with her eyes open.

_There was blood. Lots of blood. Who's blood? There was a monster. It was tall and scary and…and…and its mouth was bloody. There was blood on its mouth. And there was blood on the ground. Blood coming out of someone's belly. Then someone screamed. And there was more blood. And…_

The teacher in the white raincoat was shaking her. She was yelling. There was fear in her cries. She was saying to Quetzy, "Honey! Honey, come on! Wake up! Why won't you wake up?" Then she said to someone else, "Please, please! Someone help me, please! I need help!" But she didn't need help. Quetzy was fine. A little shaken, but otherwise fine.

She couldn't look at the teacher though. She was afraid she would look down and the face of the monster with the bloody mouth would be there, ready to eat her. So she kept staring at the street where Aeron's car had turned. It wasn't just a street anymore. There was someone down there.

It was the monster with the bloody mouth!

She turned and clung to the teacher in the white raincoat. She hid behind the white raincoat that was protecting the teacher from the rain. The teacher was trying to draw her out, but Quetzy couldn't be eaten. She didn't want to be eaten. The teacher understood that, didn't she? The teacher manage to pull her out. She was just as frightened as Quetzy was. But her fear was fear of the unknown. She didn't know why Quetzy was acting in such an odd way. "What's wrong, Honey?" she asked over and over.

There were other teachers standing there now: a man in a long trench coat and a woman—the nurse—in bright pink scrubs. They were looking at her questioningly. She wanted to tell them about the dream, but she couldn't tell anyone about the dream. And she couldn't tell anyone about the monster with the blood on its mouth.

She couldn't find her voice anyway. So she pointed in the direction that she had been staring at. All three adults stared and for a moment, couldn't see anything. Then, almost all at the same time, they saw it—the monster with the blood on its mouth. The man said quietly to the teacher with the white raincoat, "Finish getting the rest of the kids in before the bell rings. Just keep a sharp eye on everyone." She nodded.

The nurse said to Quetzy, "Come on, Baby, let's go in."

Quetzy, the man in the long trench coat, and the nurse all walked into the Elementary school building. She couldn't help but steal a glance back at the monster with the blood on its mouth. She expected to be frightened and have to be carried into the building. But she wasn't scared. She wasn't scared at all when she looked into the face of the boy with the big, dark eyes, which were staring right back at her, who stood in rain with only a dirty black hoodie pulled over his head.

The nurse's office was perhaps the friendliest place Quetzy had ever been in. There were bright, colorful posters hanging on every wall; in every corner, telling children to wash their hands after and before they ate or shook hands or used the restroom and to "Cover Your Cough," as one poster exclaimed. There was a long black couch that reminded Quetzy a lot of one of those couches psychiatrist used to put their patients on. Quetzy was sitting on that.

Mrs. Yethrow was definitely cut out for school nursing. She was probably friendly to everyone she met, but she was especially good with kids. She was a short black woman with neat black hair pulled into a sharp, but somehow fitting, bun. Her pink scrubs were spotted with cute little puppies that smiled happily at you. Mrs. Yethrow never frowned. Or at least, not when she was facing you. She made great conversation, talked about everything from her kids and grandkids to your favorite school subject to books and movies or whatever interested you.

"Now, Quetzy, Darlin', I see you've never been to my office before," she said studying the computer screen in front of her on her desk. Everything had to be kept on record for "protection purposes." The government wanted even little things to be filed away so it would never be hard to find information. It was a scary idea, really. The government could pull up one file about you and absolutely everything you'd ever done would be written somewhere on it.

So, it was true that Quetzy had never paid a visit to the nurse's office. She was in third grade and had never once been. She didn't see much point in it. You couldn't just go to the nurse without making irritating phone calls to your parents. So she would have to call Nathan. If he was at work, he wouldn't be able to get her, and if he wasn't, he would just decide not to. He would say, "Suck it up, Kid. You'll get over it." So she had. Her injuries had never been anything serious enough to need to see the nurse.

She nodded her head. Mrs. Yethrow smiled, showing all her white, crooked teeth. If Quetzy had known she would enjoy herself this much, she would have come to the nurse's office sooner.

The nurse rolled her chair over to the couch where Quetzy sat. "So, what do you like to do in school, Quetzy?" she asked as she took out a thermometer and ran it up and down the side of her head.

"I like art," Quetzy answered.

Mrs. Yethrow through her head back and rolled with laughter, "Do you, now?" She rolled her chair back to her desk, opened up one of the drawers, and took out a notepad. "So do I," she grinned and handed Quetzy the notepad.

Each and every single page was full of beautiful charcoal outlines of everything from landscapes to people and animals. Her eyes couldn't get enough of all the drawings. She stared up at Mrs. Yethrow with even more respect than before. Bright eyed, she asked, "How did you learn to do this?"

Mrs. Yethrow let off another burst of contagious laughter. "I didn't learn it, Sweetheart. It just came with me when I was born. Someone thought it fit to give me a bit of an artistic ability. To further the kingdom, I suppose. My parents (rest their souls) couldn't draw worth two of your good penny halves. So I know I didn't inherit it from them. And if anybody else in my family can draw, they've been keeping it a secret."

Quetzy was in awe. She loved all of drawings. The dogs were spectacular; they looked at if they could leap off the page and lick your face until you were sick. There were a few cats that looked just as grand. The people were fantastic as well. None of them had faces—they were just outlines—but it wasn't hard to put a suitable one with each body. There were many, many, many cities, each better than the last. "What are these?" Quetzy asked, pointing to one of the cities.

"Ah, those are my favorites. I suppose you could say they are imaginary, but I don't think they are. I think they are just as real as you and me are, sitting right here. These drawings are of a place that exists so far away, none of us could ever reach it in this life. But it's there. Oh, it's there." She looked away very dreamily. Quetzy thought she might be done speaking when she started up again, "That's where my mother and father are. And it's where I'm going too. Someday."

She studied Quetzy's face. Quetzy was staring up at the woman she had recently decided she admired so much. She thought she wanted to get to know her better. She wondered if Aeron would like her; if she would like Aeron.

"Quetzy, it looks like you're all fine. No fever; no pain. I would say you just felt a little flash of vertigo, nausea maybe." She stood. Quetzy wanted to ask what vertigo was, but the woman was still speaking. "Sure was a good thing you spotted that boy. He might have been trying to cause a bit of trouble. We have to keep those people in our prayers." She gave Quetzy a stern look. Quetzy nodded even though she didn't know why she was nodding. "But most kids might not have spotted him. Good thing you did."

She looked around the room and peeked around the corner past the door to her office. "I want to tell you a secret," Mrs. Yethrow said. "I think you're a very special little girl, and I think I can trust you. Can I trust you, Quetzy?"

She nodded again.

"Okay," she smiled. She opened up the same drawer that she had kept her notepad in. She dug around in the drawer's contents for a few moments before pulling out what looked like a bookmark. She handed it to Quetzy.

Inscribed at the top was, "Don't Forget to Wash Your Hands" and underneath that was a bulleted list of "What to Do When You're Sick." Quetzy read through the entire list twice, trying to see if there was some coded message hidden inside the helpful phrases. When she couldn't find anything, she looked up at Mrs. Yethrow expectantly.

The nurse was smiling down at her expression. "Turn it over," she said, still smiling.

Quetzy obeyed. And on the back was one of those messages that changed when you tilted it a little. The first message had an address and a phone number.

"Oh, don't worry about that part, Baby. That place is long gone." She shook her head sadly. "I want you see the other part."

The other message was a simple "Jesus Loves You" with a big smiley face underneath. The girl was confused for a moment. She didn't know if this was a joke or a trap. She furrowed her brows and stared at the lady who was smiling at her again.

"Don't worry, Sweetheart. I'm not trying to trick you." Her look turned very serious very suddenly. "But you know, I could get in big, big, _big_ trouble for this. It has to be a secret—just between you and me."

Quetzy was still trying to figure out if the woman was for real or not. This was a big deal. You certainly didn't go around joking about this kind of stuff. If the nurse really was being honest, she was taking a big risk. Why in the world would she put her life in the hands of an eight year old girl? And why Quetzy? But if this was a big trick to see how Quetzy would react, then she didn't know what to do.

Her first impression of the woman had been the best first impression you could ask for. Quetzy had been very eager to get to know the school nurse better. But now she was unsure. She wanted so much to trust her instincts, to keep the bookmark. But what if her instincts were wrong? She would be in bigger trouble than detention, that's what.

Of course, her instincts had never been wrong yet. Then again, she had never been in a real situation like this where she would have to try them out. Maybe it was stupid; maybe she would regret it, but she acted on her instincts. She was only eight. How could she possibly know what lay ahead of her? She couldn't. And she would certainly regret taking the bookmark from Mrs. Yethrow.

The kindly old nurse smiled brighter than ever and gave her lolly pop. "Now remember, this is our secret. Just between you and me." She winked and Quetzy smiled, thinking what a good friend she had made.

Mrs. Yethrow walked Quetzy to room 304 where class had already begun. She and the nurse had already said The Pledge with their hands over their hearts, facing the striped flag in the corner of the room. Quetzy noticed that Mrs. Yethrow had said an extra part she had never heard before. It was between "to the republic, for which it stands" and "we are indivisible, with liberty and justice for all." She had said something like, "One nation, under God," which had put her behind Quetzy and the rest of the school.

When Quetzy had asked her what that meant and why she had said it, she responded, "I'm an old nurse. I've been here for a long, long while. When I was young and the world was somewhat sane, that was The Pledge we said." Quetzy had asked again just _why_ she had said it. The nurse had first laughed. "Partly because I'm an old goat and I'm stubborn and set in my ways. But mainly because it's the truth—even though it's sometimes hard to see it that way anymore."

Quetzy didn't really understand what she was talking about. So she just nodded and let herself be led out of the nurse's office and through the hall down to Room 304. Mrs. Yethrow had knocked quietly on the wooden door and Ms. Ingram, disrupted in her teaching, had crossed the room to the door. She had found herself staring down at both the nurse and her tardy student.

"Don't worry, Ms. Ingram. Quetzy has a pass," Mrs. Yethrow said smiling.

Ms. Ingram gave her a strange look that Quetzy couldn't quite read, but she knew that it was full of hate. It could have been because she was black. Mrs. Yethrow kept smiling though. She pushed Quetzy through the door, turned, and walked down the hall back to her office.

Ms. Ingram didn't miss a beat. She resumed her teaching as soon as the door was shut without waiting for Quetzy to take her seat. They were covering mixed numbers this morning. Quetzy hated math. She was good at math—really good. But she didn't like it _at all_.

She tried to concentrate on what Ms. Ingram was saying—she really did—but she just couldn't. She couldn't stop thinking about Mrs. Yethrow and the bookmark she had given her. It was in her windbreaker pocket. She hadn't taken it off yet. She didn't want to risk it falling out of the pocket. Even if it wouldn't raise suspicions, she didn't want to risk it. And if the windbreaker itself brought about question, she would simply say that she was cold. That was believable enough. It _was_ raining outside.

Her mind floated from one thing to another and every single thing had nothing to do with math. She wasn't really worried about tests or anything. She had always done well on her tests and she had never had to study. That had always just come naturally to her. Aeron had always had trouble with that sort of thing. She would stay up all night in the kitchen with the study lamp on, her books and papers thrown about the table. Not that skipping helped her. Regardless, things didn't come easy to Aeron like they did to Quetzy.

There again, Aeron was quick in a situation. If they were ever in a tight spot with Nathan, or with anyone for that matter, Aeron knew how to get out of it. She was strong too. Not as much physically, though Quetzy wouldn't have doubted for a second that she wasn't. But Aeron was very strong willed. Quetzy could never recall seeing Aeron give up or back down. If she wanted something bad enough, she would find a way to get it.

Of course, it wasn't to say that Aeron wasn't smart. Because she was. But she wasn't smart like Quetzy.

Quetzy didn't think she could have a better sister than Aeron. All siblings fought. But Quetzy couldn't remember a time when she and Aeron had really been _angry_ with each other. Both were the other's fall back person. Aeron was more of one for Quetzy than Quetzy was for Aeron, but still, they were sisters. And nothing—nothing—could change that.

Everyone was looking at her. Ms. Ingram was too. No doubt she had asked Quetzy a question that she hadn't heard. It was written on the board: 1 ½ + ¼ =

Without hardly thinking, she spouted off a number, "1 ¾."

Satisfied, Ms. Ingram turned and conjured up another problem for someone else to solve.

Quetzy could almost remember a time when she had enjoyed coming to school, sitting in her desk with her working buddy beside her, solving problems before any of the other kids could, drawing in art class. But now, those memories seemed to be lost with the those forgotten of the time between the darkness of her infant years and the age of Nathan.

There had always been a Nathan. If Quetzy had been a normal child, she would have assumed he was her real father. But Quetzy wasn't normal. She saw through the veils the New World leader and his government liked to put up to shade _normal_ people's view, and she drew pictures of her interpretations. So It was all the easier for her to see that something wasn't right with Nathan. It was the big _what_ question that bothered her.

He wasn't really a bad father. Or father figure, rather. But he wasn't much of one either. He had never abused her or Aeron (as far as she knew.) There had always been food on the table (sort of,) and he had never failed to pay the bills. No one accused him of paying them on time, but they got paid.

There had always seemed to be something of a wall that kept her and Nathan from having a father-daughter relationship. Quetzy had always just assumed things would get easier as she got older, but it had only gotten worse. It had begun to become apparent that nothing was ever going to come from Nathan's one-layered heart. There must have been a reason. Surely Aeron knew. But there never seemed to be a right time to inquire on the subject.

Or maybe Aeron didn't know. It was possible that she was just as blind to the evils of the New World as everyone else. It was possible that she wasn't everything Quetzy had always thought she was: leader, role model, sister.

All that was possible. But was probability the answer to all those queries?

The bell rang down the hallway signaling that break had begun. She and her classmates rose as Ms. Ingram herded them out of Room 304. There was commotion in the halls as children ran to bathrooms, snack machines, water fountains, or corners where crowds gathered to catch up on the latest elementary school drama.

Quetzy had always been sort of a loner. It wasn't that she was more comfortable by herself; she just didn't want to have to seek out friends. And after the art class incident, her peers thought she was weird or infected with cooties. It was obvious that they didn't want to be around her, and she didn't want half-hearted friends.

It was probably better that she wasn't close to anyone. Nathan was such an embarrassment. If she had been close to another child, there would be questions or play dates or parent get-togethers so the child's mother of father would know their child's whereabouts. Nathan wasn't up for such things, and if Quetzy somehow managed to get him out and about, it would be chaos. It just wasn't worth it.

There was someone that she liked to talk to. Her name was Thalia. Like Quetzy, Thalia was somewhat of an outcast. (It was funny how the outcasts seem to flock together.) Racial discrimination was the higher than it had ever been in the United States, and Thalia was black.

Quetzy wasn't sure how it had escalated like it had. Aeron could probably tell her. Aeron knew all about that kind of stuff. But Quetzy knew it had something to do with Malaci Decorr and his policies and changes.

Thalia had come to Ickes Elementary School at the beginning of the year. No one had really acknowledged her presence. Quetzy had felt bad for her. There was a lot of empathy shared between them. So she had approached Thalia. Quetzy had expected her to be very alien because of the way the other kids, and ever Ms. Ingram, had treated her. But she was just a kid like Quetzy and the others. She had a family and three brother—two older and one younger. She had a mom and a dad who both worked. Not to mention she liked to sing.

She was an incredible singer. Quetzy had never heard a black person sing. She wondered if all black people sang like that, and, if they did, why more of them didn't sing openly. There weren't many that she knew. Most went to their own schools so there wouldn't be any "outbreaks." Now, she knew two, and Thalia was the only one she had ever heard sing. Even that had been brief, and Thalia had seemed fidgety.

In comparison to the day that would follow after recess, the hours in between were uneventful. There was more teaching from Ms. Ingram, more of that itching that urged Quetzy to reveal the bookmark, and intuition. She couldn't help but feel that something—_something_—bad was going to happen.

She drummed mindlessly on her desk until the recess bell rang. Everyone stood and made their way to the door noisily. This was the time they were all allowed to run and scream and do almost whatever they pleased. As long as it corresponded with school rules, that was.

Their playground was due for an upgrade and a major cleanup. Didn't they hire custodians for that sort of thing?

The paint that covered the big slide that spiraled down was chipping; the swing set squeaked loudly. There was a rope web designed like monkey bars, but several of the ropes had been cut. The rock wall was missing two or three rocks, and many objects scattered around the grounds seem to have no purpose at all. Not to mention the graffiti covered the brick wall behind the playground, and small pieces of glass littered the ground.

A metal fence surrounded the playground to keep children from wandering off, or to prevent others from running off with one of them. Next to the door of the elementary school, there was a shaded pavilion and a chair provided for Ms. Ingram. She rarely lifted an eye to the students. She was most often too engrossed in the latest edition of _Cosmopolitan _or **Soap Weekly**.

For Ickes, this might have been a state-of-the-art playground. But Quetzy expected something…safer?...for the elementary school student.

A spidery, metal dome acted as Quetzy's seat. Most everyone veered away from that area. Quetzy didn't think it was because of her presence. At least, she hoped it wasn't. She figured it was because of Thalia's.

Secretly, Quetzy was grateful that Thalia liked her enough to talk to her. It was nice to have a friend who didn't judge; didn't ask too many questions. She just talked. Quetzy assumed Thalia felt the same way. She had virtually no one to talk to around school. At least Quetzy had caused her own discrimination. Thalia could do nothing about it.

The pair was mostly quiet, as they sat there on the dome. Occasionally, one would make some sort of comment, and the other would respond in the same toneless manner. Thalia's thoughts were unknown, but Quetzy was still deep in concentration on the bookmark.

She reached into her pocket and fingered it. She traced the rectangular shape and pressed hard onto the corners. She pressed harder when she saw the figure of Mica silhouetted against the afternoon sun. She let one of the corners stay between the skin on the tip of her finger and her fingernail as Mica and his crew walked towards her and Thalia. He could only want one thing from the two misfits—trouble.

Mica apparently said something that Quetzy was too far away to hear. A ripple of laughter passed through the crowd making their way to the dome. Mica's joke must have been very funny because they kept laughing until they stopped right in front of Thalia.

Mica stood almost two inches taller than Thalia. He stood up straight and seemed to dominate over her. Quetzy could see Thalia's shoulders sag as the boy stood over her, ready to strike. Mica was tall, strong, and just about the coolest boy in school. But he was mean. He was mean to Quetzy and even worse to Thalia. Part of Quetzy's shunning was due to Mica's labeling. Once you were "uncool" in his book, there was no going back.

It was clear that the purpose of his presence was to bully Thalia. It didn't seem like Quetzy was going to be involved in this session. She was grateful for this and considered sneaking away from the whole scene. But then she thought that one of them would catch her and pull her into the mix. So she stayed where she was, observing the cruelty her only friend was about to silently suffer through.

It had started with a little shove and the usual, "What's wrong with your skin?" banter. Thalia had seen it all before. There didn't seem like there was anything new Mica or his buddies could say or do that hadn't already been said or done to her. Then there was the name-calling—dummy, stupid, and one even went so far as to say the G word. To Quetzy, that seemed completely uncalled for and irrelevant since Thalia was nothing close to the G word.

But still, she stood there, taking Mica's harassment with a blank stare on her face, unfazed.

Weren't bullies supposed to leave you alone if you didn't act offended by their insults? Quetzy had always heard that if you acted like those things didn't bother you, eventually, the bullies would go away. But Mica and his sidekicks didn't go away. They did something unthinkable, or, rather, _Mica_ did something unthinkable. It was so unthinkable in fact; he didn't have a chance to act.

There weren't many explanations to justify the events that followed. It might have been adrenalin, or spontaneous impulse, or insanity. But what it was that impelled Quetzy to jump off the dome and touch—barely touch—Mica on the shoulders, she couldn't explain. She stood there, staring right into his eyeballs, (they were the same height) for what might have been ten seconds. Thalia and all Mica's friends had backed up about two feet, giving Quetzy and Mica room to fight—if that's what it amounted to.

Quetzy took her hands off him and shrunk away, expecting a hard shove or, at the very least, a fresh batch of insults. But Mica made no attempt to swing at her, or even to advance towards her. He stood in the exact same position as he had before. If there had been any movement since Quetzy had touched him, she couldn't tell. All of them kept staring at him, waiting for him to give some sign of consciousness.

Nothing happened.

The boys began to shuffle their feet nervously; Thalia backed up farther and farther away from the crowd. Quetzy was too shocked to know what to do. Mica seemed…paralyzed or stunned or something. She took one step forward and lightly poked the boy. Static electricity passed through her finger to the boy's body, sending a shock to him. He immediately tensed and almost fell over. Without the aid of one of the other boys, he would have tumbled to the ground.

Upon shocking the kid, Quetzy backed up out of the circle. She kept backing up until she reached the gate surrounding the playground that was, for some reason, left open. At that point, she turned and began running forward.

She seemed to be watching her body from above. She wanted to tell her feet to stop moving, but they kept running towards the road. Before she knew it, she was actually in the road. Then, as if her feet had just gotten the message, she stopped running.

She was just about to turn and run back to the playground when the sound of a car came racing towards her. For a brief moment, she was just as paralyzed as Mica was. Then, she knew exactly what to do. She didn't run. She stood her ground. She didn't have time to run now if she wanted to. All she could do now was wait. Wait for just the right moment…

Suddenly, it occurred to her that this might not work. She braced herself for a head on collision with the car. It was coming fast and it was right on top of her before she knew it. There was no time to think. She just had to act. Just like she had with Mica. As the car came close enough to touch, she reached out.

Static electricity ran through her fingers as they came into contact with the hot metal of the hood of the car. There was a millisecond of fear that coursed through her entire body, threatening to burst through one way or another. But she stood there, finger tips barely touching the hood of the car, staring eyeball to eyeball with a boy. He wore a look of confusion, thoughtfulness, and fear. His hair was a mess, his eyes were bloodshot, and his whole body was tense like Mica's.

Quetzy was so scared that she had paralyzed him too, that she almost wet herself right there. She removed her fingers from the car slowly and stared at them as if they weren't hers. They didn't seem like they could be hers. They had never been so powerful before. How was she expected to trust that these were in fact her own fingers?

A flash of vertigo washed over her as memories of baseball games and the smell of oranges and images of faces she didn't recognize flooded her.

_There was a gun. And there was blood. All over the seats and floors._

Thoughts of Aeron and her friends touched her briefly, but those quickly disappeared. There were other more complicated thoughts that made her want to faint. Thoughts of a man…her real father?...thoughts of a woman with long red fingernails…thoughts of a boy. A boy with blood on him. A monster in disguise? She couldn't tell.

She didn't realize she had been shaking until Ms. Ingram scooped her up and held her tightly, forcing her to stop convulsing. "Oh my," she whispered over and over. Ms. Ingram pulled an unsteady hand away from Quetzy and held it out. She murmured something about staying back and kept walking across the street. Quetzy was too drained to look back at the boy even though she desperately wanted to know if he was the boy with blood on him.

Quetzy didn't know how long it had been since Ms. Ingram had ushered all the children inside. The first order of business was to take care of Mica. Ms. Ingram had requested Mrs. Yethrow's assistance, and she had responded over the room-to-room intercom saying that she was on her way. Just as Mrs. Yethrow and Ms. Ingram closed their conversation, the regular intercom beeped as a small voice began to speak.

"This is your principal, Mrs. Ardem. We are experiencing a dangerous situation—a criminal has escaped and is hiding on campus. We are issuing a lockdown. The alarm will sound momentarily, and we expect all teachers to follow lockdown procedure."

There was another beep as the announcement ended, and, just as Principal Ardem had promised, the alarm sounded. Ms. Ingram stood and began muttering that something was wrong. "Why didn't they just play the alarm? Why did she make an announcement? That's not normal. Something's wrong. _Something's wrong._"

She walked to the windows to draw the blinds. She pulled the string. Then she screamed.

The bloody face of a man appeared in the window. His eyes were tired and his hair was muddy. He looked worse than the boy in the car. There were bruises on his head and cheeks, dark circles under his eyes, and a small scar under his chin. His nose was bleeding and his lips were cut. His eyes were scared, darting from one thing to another. Finally, they settled on Quetzy.

She knew she was supposed to be afraid of him. He was the criminal that had caused the lockdown, she was sure. But he wasn't scary like she had imagined. He was the scared one.

He must have collapsed because he fell down out of view. Two police with stun guns ran towards the man. Quetzy realized that one of the stuns was already trained on the man. That must have been the reason he had fallen.

The policemen stood over him for some time, staring at him and moving slightly. She imagined they were beating him. A pang of sorrow for the man tugged her heart. She didn't know what he had done to deserve such treatment, but surely it couldn't be that bad. Could it?

One of the men turned towards the window and saw the students and bewildered teacher watching the two take justice into their own hands. He gave Ms. Ingram a death glare, she let the string go, and the blinds fell over the window, making the room darker. The blinds may have prevented the children from seeing the scene outside, but they failed to stop them from hearing the swearing of the police; the grunts of the criminal.

It might have been coincidence that the man—criminal—had chosen today to break away from prison. It might have been coincidence that the police had chosen Room 304 for their inspection. It might have been coincidence that, just as the police were charging through the doors, Mrs. Yethrow was walking down the hall.

Or maybe it was fate.

Quetzy had considered a lot of things when she received the bookmark from Mrs. Yethrow this morning which seemed so long ago now. Getting caught had certainly crossed her mind. But she had imagined Ms. Ingram or another teacher would discover her secret. Surely it wouldn't be as bad as what the police would do if they found the contents still hidden in the pocket of her windbreaker.

Snarling dogs could be heard coming down the hall. The police pounded on the door to Room 304. All the children tensed as the dogs burst through the doors followed by their masters who looked just as fierce.

The two policemen strutted through the doors confidently. The first was heavyset, slouched a bit, and had graying black hair. His uniform looked like it had been bunched in a pile in the corner before he'd put it on, and there was mud caked on the knees. His face was dirty and flushed like he was out of breath. He looked stiff too, like he was under someone's careful observation.

The second was thin and considerably younger than the first. He had bright red hair and deep eyes. His face was pale as if he had seen something awful. He stood up straight with his shoulders back like he was proud of himself for something. He followed the older man into the classroom and held the dogs.

They were two great German Shepherds with foaming mouths, wagging tails, and shaking limbs. They growled as the younger man led them up and down the rows of desks. They sniffed at the children's backpacks and shoes. Quetzy didn't know what they were looking for but they apparently didn't find it.

Every year at the beginning of the year, all the students were called to an assembly where they were instructed on dress code, good conduct, and what not to bring to school. On that list were: any kind of drugs, weapons, and any forms of religious items. They were told that at random times throughout the year, they would have an inspection of a random student from a random class to make sure they weren't breaking school rules.

Quetzy's class had never been inspected, but she had known a boy in another class that had been. He said it was no big deal unless they found something on you. And if they did…well, it meant trouble.

While the younger man was holding the dogs, the older one was waiting on Ms. Ingram to fetch him a roster. The younger man joined the older man who was bent over the roster. They both stood there for a minute of two as if they couldn't decide which unlucky soul would be the victim of the inspection. "Mica Turner," said the older man finally.

Everyone turned in their seats to stare at Mica who was still paralyzed. They had been able to get him into a sitting position, but he hadn't moved on his own since. Ms. Ingram stood in protest. "I don't mean to question your opinion, Sirs, but Mica seems to be…ill. I just spoke with the nurse. She'll be here any moment to determine his condition. If you would just wait until—"

"Ma'am we don't have time for this. We just want to do our job and go home. We've got families too."

Quetzy couldn't help but wonder where talk of families played into the discussion of Mica.

"But with all due respect—"

As if on cure, Mrs. Yethrow sauntered in the room, completely unaware of the situation. She had to stop for a moment to take it all in. She first stared at the police, then at Quetzy, trying to decide if Quetzy was responsible for their appearance. This was all terrible timing.

The men eyed her with little suspicion, so she concluded that the police weren't here on account of her. She stepped toward Mica but didn't pay him much attention. She was studying Quetzy with worry written all over her face. Quetzy could tell she wanted to know what was going on. But it was impossible for her to convey the message without the officers noticing. Besides, she didn't want to attract much attention to herself.

Seeing that there was almost no way to check the boy for illegal items, they moved on to the next child. It would have been easier to move to the person in the next desk or to Mica's study partner. But Quetzy was beginning to wonder how much of this wasn't preordained by a high power.

"Quet…Quetza…Quetzelchital…

"Quetzalxochitl," Ms. Ingram corrected. "We call her Quetzy."

"I can see why," the man said quietly. "What is that? German?"

"Aztec," Quetzy spoke up.

Everyone stared at her bemusedly. "That's pretty interesting," he studied her closely.

She squirmed uncomfortably. "Yes. My ancestors…they were Aztec."

"Very interesting indeed." He was silent for a moment, then turned to the other man and said, "Start with the bag."

The younger man stalked up to her desk and pulled her backpack out from underneath her seat and began forcing her books and other things out of it. His face was calm, composed. One by one, he laid all of her possessions on the flat of the desk in front of her. The whole time, he kept his eyes on her. She wanted to keep hers away from his, but something about them kept drawing hers back to his smooth face.

If Quetzy had been old enough to think of such things, she would have found the officer considerably handsome. But he seemed cold too. Dark mystery sort of hung over him like a storm cloud hanging over a cartoon character's head. She didn't like feeling his presence. Having him near her made her nervous, as if she wasn't nervous enough already.

When he was done, he looked at her with a strange look. It was completely indecipherable. It held something that she thought might have been pleasure, or satisfaction. But honestly, she wasn't sure. He stood and looked at the older man. He shook his head sadly as if the two were sharing some secret mentally.

"Stand up and take off your jacket," he commanded.

Her heart seemed to fall straight to the floor. She stood up obediently. If she had been thinking clearly, she would have told them that she was cold and wanted to keep the windbreaker on. It would have been a harmless request that, even if rejected, wouldn't have cost her anything. She didn't really think the outcome would have been much different, but it was worth a shot.

Unfortunately, fear had drenched her from head to two, leaving her without capability to think logically. There had to be some way out of this! But she could see none.

The red haired boy grabbed the jacket from her and began digging through the pockets. It didn't take long for him to discover the bookmark. Other than that, there was nothing save pocket fuzz.

He examined the bookmark carefully, just as Quetzy had done sitting in Mrs. Yethrow's office. He read over the "What to Do When You're Sick" list and decided there was nothing too suspicious about that. He laid it down on the table and nodded at the older man.

Quetzy breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't know how it had happened, but she had managed to make it out of this. She was free. Then she noticed that the boy hadn't laid the bookmark down on the desk with the "What to Do When You're Sick" list face up. The side with the changing message just sat there, staring at the boy, practically _screaming_ at him. It seemed to beg him to look down.

In her mind, it seemed only normal to want to stare back at it. She couldn't seem to take her eyes off. Maybe if she could stare at it hard enough—will it hard enough—the message might disappear and the officers would leave her alone.

She needed a miracle, and right now, there was only one person to really turn to. Quetzy had never been to church, so she didn't really know what to say. Luckily, she was a child. Children sometimes possess a faith like none other. She reached out with all her being and prayed that the boy wouldn't look down.

Maybe the phone lines were down today, or she didn't have a good signal. Whatever the case, her message didn't go through. The boy glanced down only slightly. It was enough, however, for him to notice the changing message on the back of the card.

"Hendrix," he called to his partner. "Look at this."

The older man—Hendrix—looked along over the boy's shoulder. "Well, I'll be—" He said the D word. "That's the cleverest thing I've seen in quite some time." He looked at Quetzy with new respect. Maybe he knew that she hadn't come up with the clever disguise of the message. Maybe he didn't. No matter. She was in possession of the bookmark, and that was all that matter.

Hendrix gave the younger cop a look that seemed to say, "Let's take her in." He turned and showed Ms. Ingram the bookmark. When she saw the hidden message, she gasped. She stood and started to walk to towards Quetzy and the officers, but she stopped as if she couldn't go any further.

It was apparent that neither officer had ever done this before—not arresting someone, but arresting a kid as young as Quetzy. They weren't sure how to go about doing it. Surprisingly, it was the younger officer who took action. He pulled his handcuffs from his belt and looked questioningly at his partner. The older man said nothing.

Ms. Ingram remained quiet. She looked stunned; paler than pale. Even Mrs. Yethrow's black skin had lightened. All the kids around her had panicky eyes which darted every which way. No one could believe that good, silent Quetzy was in possession of something so illegal, that she was getting caught with it.

Of course, Mrs. Yethrow had known. She had been watching closely. Now Quetzy was watching her closely. This had to be a trick or something. Things like this didn't just happen. It had to be a prank or a test or…or…something! She kept waiting for the hidden cameras to come out, for Ms. Ingram's frown turn to a laughing smile, for all the students to point and laugh at the fool who had believed their act. But none of that happened.

Something else happened.

"Stop!" a not-so-distant voice cried. All eyes were turned to the little nurse standing awkwardly by Mica's desk. "Stop," she repeated.

"Something you have to say?" Hendrix said gruffly. Quetzy didn't like his tone.

Mrs. Yethrow was silent for a second. Then she murmured, "Yes."

They waited for her to gather her courage before she went on. "I gave her the bookmark. I put it in her pocket as she was leaving my office this morning. She didn't know." She stopped and started again quickly, "I was trying to spite her."

Everyone was quiet. No one knew what to say, least of all Quetzy. She had trusted the nurse, and here she was, telling everyone the whole thing was a setup. It had to be a lie, didn't it? It couldn't be true.

But she had just admitted to a crime so foul and scorned. Confession was enough proof for the two men. No questions asked; no emotions shed, they began to go about their business.

Mrs. Yethrow silently let them put her hands behind her back and cuff them together. As they were just walking out the door, Quetzy stood and ran to the nurse. "Wait!" she yelled. Despite the feeling of betrayal, she felt she needed to speak to the woman.

They stopped. Hendrix didn't seem to mind but the boy grumbled to himself.

"Why are you letting them take you?" Quetzy cried, tears welling in her eyes. Whether it had been a trick or not, Quetzy couldn't help but cry for the woman.

"Oh, Baby. Don't cry. It's okay." She still smiled despite everything. Her smile was so lovely. "I was just getting ready to leave anyway." She bent down close to Quetzy's ear and whispered, "You remember those cities that I drew?"

Quetzy nodded.

"Well, that's where I'm going. I hope to see you there."

With nothing left to be said, Hendrix and his partner led the nurse out of the room. Quetzy wasn't sure what the woman was talking about, but it made her feel better to know that she was going to a beautiful city.

The rest of the day was a blur. Ms. Ingram was too shocked to teach; the kids too scared to learn.

There had been plenty of searches as the school before, but no one had ever seen anyone get taken away—wherever _away_ was. Quetzy had known a boy once to actually get searched. His name was Shane. He was a grade younger but they had gotten along quite well. Quetzy didn't know much about boys but she knew that she liked him. And he liked her too.

It had been the first day of October that the police had come with their dogs. She had heard them coming but she hadn't known until afterward that it had been his class they were making their way to. He had told her about it, but she got the feeling he had left a lot out. Probably better. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear the whole story.

He had told her that they had made him take off his jacket upon not finding anything in his backpack. After they still came up empty-handed, they escorted him to a private room. That was where the story had ended. Obviously, they hadn't found anything in that room either. Quetzy shuddered to think what might have happened to Shane if they _had_ found something on him; what was about to happen to Mrs. Yethrow.

Shane was always different after that. He always seemed like he was thinking about other things. He didn't talk to Quetzy as much, or anyone else, for that matter.

Then, there was the art incident, and no one wanted much to do with her.

She couldn't help but feel guilty about what had happened to her new friend, the nurse. There was really nothing she could have done differently to change the turn of events, but she still felt responsible. Maybe if she had run away—skipped school—when she had the chance, or if she had not taken the bookmark in the first place. Or even if she hadn't touched Mica.

The police would have searched him instead. Maybe that was a horrible thing to wish upon her own peer, but at least it wouldn't have resulted in Mrs. Yethrow's fate—whatever that was. Quetzy doubted Mica had any sort of religious items on him, and he didn't seem the type for drugs or weapons. At worst, he would have been taken to the private room.

Now she felt even guiltier. She was asking for a third grader to sacrifice himself for an old woman she had just met.

In retrospect, it did seem better for things to end up the way they had. Mrs. Yethrow was old and she hadn't seemed worried about going off to that place. Mica was young and had his whole life ahead of him. Even if all he would have to do was walk back to the room with the men, he might still have been traumatically scarred. Shane had been a scary image after what had happened to him. Would she really be willing to make Mica that way?

Then again, he had never been willing to make her life easier. Mrs. Yethrow had made Quetzy feel special even if she had only known her for a few hours. Just this afternoon, Mica had dared to do something so unbelievable. But still, not even the police would turn heads. Maybe it was a moral issue—not something to be taken up with the police. Still, it had been enough to make her react. Whether that reaction had been rational or irrational, she wasn't quite sure.

It had mostly been spontaneous. She had heard the word and acted. She had had enough of Mica's childish behavior, and using that word was where she'd drawn the line. Quetzy didn't have many pet peeves, but saying things you don't mean or understand was one she did have. She doubted Mica understood the meaning of the word.

Before she knew it, it was time for school to end.

Quetzy and Thalia stood up and walked towards the door together. Ms. Ingram was walking to Mica's seat. He still sat there, staring ahead blankly. He looked like a zombie, hunching slightly over his desk, expressionless.

For a second, Quetzy felt bad for him. She felt bad for what she'd done to him. She hoped he would get better. She didn't want him to be like that for the rest of his life.

As if willed by her, Mica stirred. He blinked a few times and turned his head. It took him a moment or two to get his bearings, but he seemed to come back to his senses.

"Oh, Mica! You're better! What happened? Are you allergic to something?" Ms. Ingram went about asking. Mica didn't seem to understand what she was asking at first. Then he began looking around the room. When he got sight of Quetzy, his eyes widened and he clung to the woman. She threw a confused look at her, and she began to understand.

Thalia pulled on her arm. "Com'on. Let's get outta here." They started walking outside with the other third graders. "What did you do to him?" asked Thalia in a whisper.

Quetzy didn't know what to tell her since she didn't really know herself. "I don't know. All I did was poke him. And that was to make sure he was okay. Before that, I just kinda shoved him, I think."

They walked outside into the sunshine. The rain had obviously gone away. Thalia noticed too. She inhaled a nice breath of air. Then she turned back to Quetzy. "Why?"

This question she neither knew how to answer nor what to make of it. "What do you mean why? He said," She looked around to make sure no one else would hear, "The N word."

Thalia furrowed her eyebrows. "No, he didn't," she said with correction in her voice.

"Yes, he did too!" Quetzy said a little louder than she had intended. Some of Mica's friends looked over at them. Noticing their presence, they made their way towards them.

"What did you do to Mica, Freak?" one said.

Another stepped forward and shoved Quetzy into Thalia who stumbled backward. All of them began to taunt and shove them. By the time Ms. Ingram came out holding Mica's hand, a whole mosh pit had broken out in front of the school. She broke it up quickly and separated Quetzy and Thalia from the boys. She gave Quetzy a look of fear. She seemed to be getting a lot of those today. There was no doubt in Quetzy's mind that Mica had divulged the whole story about Quetzy's freakness.

At that moment, she felt lower than low. Thalia wasn't sure what to make of it all. Quetzy could tell she didn't really want to be around her, and she certainly didn't want to talk. So Quetzy found a nice, quiet place in the shade and read her e-book while she waited for Aeron.

Almost everyone else was gone by the time Aeron pulled up. Aeron was always late getting to pick her up. Quetzy was too tired to wonder what Aeron had been up to today that had hindered her from arriving on time.

She did smile when she saw her sister. She was more than glad that she was here, whether she was late or not. She was taking her away, and today more than ever, she wanted to go away.

Aeron got out of the car to sign her out while Quetzy got in and waited patiently. When Aeron got back, she pulled her seatbelt over her. Quetzy did the same. She began to talk about everything. She started with the dream from the night before and ended with the boys picking on her and Thalia in front of the school. There didn't seem to be an off button; nothing could stop the flow of words.

When she had finished, she turned to her older sister, looking for some kind of comfort. But Aeron was lost in her own thoughts. "Aeron," she said. The older girl looked down on her. She considered recounting the whole thing again to her now devoted audience. But it was hard enough to say the first time. Instead she stated, "I'm hungry."

"Okay, I think we have something at home," she replied halfheartedly.

"Okay," she said back. First, she didn't want to go home. Second, she wanted Aeron to be a little more interested in her day. At any other time, Aeron would be all over her, wanting to know every little thing. At those times, Quetzy wouldn't want that. Now that she did, Aeron had more important things on her mind. What could possibly be so important?

That was selfish. Something really bad could have happened today that Aeron had dubbed Quetzy too young to know about. But something really bad had happened to Quetzy today, and she needed Aeron to be there for her.

They pulled to a short halt at a red light. As if reading her mind, Aeron had laid a hand on her shoulder. Quetzy had traced the arm with her eyes up to Aeron's face. She was smiling at her. That was enough to make her smile back.

There was a lone, blue car parked in front of the trailer. It was beat up and trashy but it got Nathan to work when he chose to go. Quetzy stiffened a little bit. She felt bad for feeling so afraid of the man. She told herself again that he had never physically hurt her in any way. He may not have been the best father, but he wasn't a bad one either. He tended to neglect and yell, but he had always treated her like his own. It was just sometimes hard to convince herself of this.

Aeron whispered the S word. Quetzy turned her head sharply towards her. Aeron had promised to stop. Quetzy knew that she regretted it the instant the word had left her mouth. She wore a look of guilt as she turned to her and said, "Sorry."

She stared down for a minute. She figured most of her resentment to Nathan had come from Aeron's own bitterness. But she didn't like to blame Aeron. Aeron probably had good reason to feel the way she did about Nathan. Whatever that reason was, Quetzy didn't know. Aeron didn't share much of that sort of information with her. It was none of an eight-year-old's business.

"It's a habit. I'm working on it," Aeron whispered.

Quetzy understood, but she still didn't like it.

The house was alive with the blare of the evening news. Nathan lay, half-asleep, on the couch. There were several empty cans of beer littered around the couch. His poker table stuffed into the corner held paper plates and more beer cans. An ash tray still smoked faintly. She assumed his poker buddies had just left.

"Hey. Hey, Kiddo," he said hoarsely. "Are you gonna give your dad a hug or what?"

She wanted to say the latter but she walked to him even so. His breath smelled like liquor (of course) and his clothes stunk of smoke and were well-used and soiled. She accidently inhaled his rank. She wondered how long it had been since he had showered.

"Now, get off me. You're all sweaty," he told her before patting her harder than he had meant to on the head. Her heart sank a little bit. She didn't think she was sweaty at all. But now she felt very self-conscious and quickly walked back to Aeron.

Aeron placed her hand on her head as if to cover up Nathan's touch. She steered her towards the kitchen. When they were there, she lifted her up unexpectedly. Sitting her on the counter, Aeron brushed her cheek against Quetzy's and breathed, "He's not your father." Quetzy nodded in understanding and Aeron continued loudly, "Good. Now, let's see if we have anything to eat."

Leaning forward and peeking around Aeron, Quetzy could see she was rummaging through the cabinets. She finally pulled down a moist looking rectangular box. There was no telling how long it had been up there. She whiffed it and smiled cheerfully, "Yum! Did you know people have been eating this cereal since 1941?"

For a second, Quetzy was intrigued. "So cave people ate this stuff?"

"Uh…maybe. You know, I think they did," Aeron answered.

After preparing a bowl for her sister, Aeron set it on the table. Quetzy hopped down from her place on the counter and made her way to a chair.

"There. Looks good doesn't it?" Aeron smiled.

She stared at it for a moment or two before asking, "Why is it moving?" She could see something was at the bottom of the bowl, pushing the O's around and shifting them slightly.

Caught off guard, a shocked Aeron asked in reply, "What?"

A decent sized cockroach and his partner crawled out into the open. She let out a short yelp and dashed away from the bowl. She didn't get along well with bugs—especially not large, scary ones. "What the—" Nathan said the H word. "What the — is wrong with you? Getta hold of yourself! Shut up, Kid!"

Aeron had come across the room to stand by her. She was trying to hold her, but Quetzy was fine. She was still shaken, but the real moment of terror was over. She just _had_ to make herself stop crying. _Grow up_. She told herself. _Don't be such a baby._

"I've got a hangover and I'm trying to watch T.V.!" Nathan finished.

"Don't worry. We're leaving," Aeron retorted curtly.

"Where do you think you're going, little girl?"

Aeron flushed but didn't take the bait. "Your friends ate every bit of edible food in this house and left of this…this…bug-filled cereal. We're going to get something to eat and stock the cupboards. Besides, I would hate to disturb you any further."

Quetzy wasn't sure where this was going, but it could only get worse from here.

"You will not go anywhere!" He shouted loud enough for the whole park to hear him.

"Are you gonna stop me? You can't get yourself off the couch, let alone stop _me_ from doing _anything_." Quetzy had never felt so much respect for Aeron, nor so much fear of Nathan.

"Fine. Leave. Like I care what _you_ do anyhow. Just leave _her_ with _me_. She's still mine." He smiled wickedly, pointing at Quetzy. What could Aeron do if he wanted her? Could she stop him? Quetzy had never thought there was anything her big sister _couldn't _do. But what if she couldn't stop Nathan?

"You are not her father. You won't touch her."

Sure, she could say that. But now he was standing. He looked like he could've touched her if he wanted to. But he grunted painfully and sat back down. It was time to leave while he was incapable of making his move.

Aeron pulled her hand and they walked out the door together. She stole a glance behind her and saw him holding his head in his hands. She didn't know if he was crying or if his head just hurt really bad. For a brief—_very_ brief—moment, Quetzy felt pity for the man.

"You'll come back!" he shouted, his voice muffled by his palms. "And when you do, I'll be waiting." The pity disappeared from her almost instantly.

When they were in the car and driving away from the park, Aeron handed Quetzy her windbreaker. She hadn't noticed Aeron had thought to bring it. She pulled it on and shivered. This was huge. What was going to happen now? They had nowhere to go; no one to turn to. There was nothing for them.

And as if the day wasn't bad enough already! Without warning, she began to cry. She didn't make a big deal of it, but she decided to let tears run down her face. It felt good—like she was letting everything go, running out of her eyes. Aeron's hand appeared in front of her face. Quetzy held it up to her cheek.

Aeron's rote flashed and beeped, alerting them of the message that had not been heard. The sudden light caught her attention and she turned sharply towards the machine.

"It's okay. I'm just gonna check it."

With Aeron's Rote in her ear, Quetzy couldn't hear the message. Within a few seconds, Aeron was spinning the car around, away from the city.

"Where are we going?"

"We're going to see Faolan. He has some food for us." She didn't believe that at all.

Aeron seemed really tense as she turned the wheel with one white-knuckled fist. She started pressing buttons on the Rote positioned in her ear. Quetzy didn't know what to make of her behavior. There was something bothering Aeron—something she couldn't figure out. She must have pressed a button too hard, pushing the Rote out of her ear. It fell to the ground and Aeron muttered, "Crap." Quetzy much preferred that word over the other she might have chosen to use.

She unsafely reached down on the floor. She was glancing up over the dash, still able to see the road. But it was easy to forget she was driving. Staying down too long without looking back up could result in something neither of the girls wanted.

"Hit the light for me, will ya'?"

Quetzy sat up straighter and reached for the light. She was still too short so she pulled her legs under her. Now she could flick on the light without straining.

She didn't really notice the headlights since the light she had just turned on was dousing the light from the oncoming car. There wasn't time to think; to scream. Everything blurred together like an impressionist painting—the colors and sounds meshed together, making everything distorted and unrealistic.

She didn't have time for first or second thoughts. The whole thing was happening so fast. If there had been time to think about the irony of things, she would have thought about how, on this one and only night, she hadn't been wearing her seatbelt.

The rest was forgotten as everything slowed down just long enough for lights to fade and whites to turn to blacks.

Dying is an interesting thing. It's only after you realize that you have died that it becomes interesting. It's like watching your body from a distance. You feel your dying chest pushing hard, but the chest belonging to the body hovering above is breathing normally. Then you see that part of you is still alive. That's why you're still here, watching from above. You scream as loud as you can—though you can only scream mentally—at your body to wake up, not to give up, to just keep breathing. Then you see the blood. And you know that you've only got so much time left to observe before it's all over and you're called away—wherever away is.

Then something miraculous happens. You feel yourself being pulled away; pulled back to the shell of a body you've just been willing to live. And you breathe.

It felt like every bone in Quetzy's body had been smashed and ground into tiny pieces beneath the skin. She needed to know if she could still move, but she was afraid to find out.

She was lying on a stretcher, being lifted into a loud truck. It took her a moment to find her voice so she could begin protesting. The paramedics were startled by her awakening but relieved. They unstrapped her and tested her reflexes and pressing lightly on her bones. Everything was surprisingly intact. They were amazed. Her recovery—sudden as it was—was incredible in itself. According to all laws of physics and science, she shouldn't be here like she was.

They gave her a blanket and a seat in one of the squad cars. Two paramedics crossed the street where the wreckage lay to consult a young looking officer with bright red hair.

Quetzy took this quiet opportunity to survey the area. It was something of a gruesome sight. Two cars—Aeron's and the other car—lay in the ditches on both sides of the road.

Aeron's little red car was so mangled that Quetzy had to turn away. The sight of it made her stomach turn. It made awful thoughts play around over and over again inside her head. Despite the fact that she wasn't looking at the car, the image stayed burnt in her brain. She could see it overturned, windows smashed in, dents everywhere, rubber burnt off wheels, and various other things missing or broken off the car.

The other car wasn't quite as twisted. It wasn't upside-down for one thing. The front was bashed in pretty badly from where it had hit Aeron's car. It had swerved across the road and skidded to a stop in the ditch. The driver's door was still open, indicating that the driver had fled the scene.

Quetzy was suddenly hot with anger. What if something awful had happened to her or Aeron? Something awful _had_ happened to her. But what if she hadn't gotten better? What gave the driver a right to leave without claiming responsibility, or at least staying to make sure everyone was alright?

The red haired cop was walking towards her. He was tall and might have been handsome on a night when his stress level wasn't so high. Premature wrinkles creased his forehead and he looked pale. It was possible that, as young as he was, this was his first major investigation. He was possibly unprepared and very scared.

"Hey, Quetzy. How ya' feelin'?" he asked casually.

"Um, fine."

He raised his eyebrows. "Really? Does anything…hurt; feel funny?"

"Uh…" she thought for a moment. "No. Nope, not really." She thought about how the doctors had tested her muscles and bones. She was a little stiff, but not at all achy. Most of the stiffness had worn off after she'd walked to the squad car. "Where's my sister?" she blurted.

The officer's expression turned cloudy. "Your sister is safe. We are just trying to wake her up now."

"Wake her up?" For a scary moment, she thought that Aeron might be in a sleep from which she would not wake.

The officer could see that he had alarmed the child and said quickly, "She is unconscious. But we are trying to wake her."

Another officer called over to the red haired one. He turned around and walked towards the calling man. He looked back quickly and smiled. A warm feeling coursed through her muscles. She felt strangely safe.

Sleepiness seemed to overtake her suddenly. She felt sure she would topple over, but she wasn't _that_ tired. She leaned against the back seat and sighed deeply. Before she sank into a pleasant dream of a better world, Quetzy couldn't help but think that she knew the red haired officer from somewhere.


End file.
